


Until the Sun Rises: The Path to Valhalla

by Artimas, VenusUnchained



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Angst, Blood and Gore, Courting Rituals, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Senshi & Shitennou Mini Bang 2019, Smut, Soul Journey, Soul-Searching, This is really fluffy I swear, Violence, charlie is chaotic evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 127,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artimas/pseuds/Artimas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusUnchained/pseuds/VenusUnchained
Summary: Danger from the North comes like snow on the air. A Shield Maiden strays from her path, determined to protect her lands and the secrets they hold.A silent song drifts in soft caresses from lands in the South that no one has seen or dared to venture to, but their treacherous stories won't stop a restless Jarl from seeking a better path for his people.





	1. The Scent of Snow

**Author's Note:**

> It's HERE! My contribution to the Senshi & Shitennou Mini Bang 2019! ENORMOUS thank you to all of the mods that put this event together, as well as this absolutely wonderful community who put up with all of my shenanigans and supported this insanity that I'm about to unleash upon the world. 
> 
> MinakosAino- you absolute angel of a human being for putting in so much beta work on this behemoth of a story, I cannot thank you enough. (And yes I owe you ALL OF THE FIC for your help!) <3  
Dara- Huge thank you for all of your soundboarding and beta work, I'm glad I apologized to you early on about my ranting but you are amazing and I appreciate your help so, so very much <3
> 
> Last but certainly not least- I am absolutely HONORED to have written this piece around the artwork of the insanely talented and endlessly wonderful Artimas! You were SUCH an inspiration and contributed so many absolutely wonderful ideas that really brought this story together in a huge way. So thank you my darling friend, I cherish this story because of the art you created for it more than words! *ART REVEAL COMING SOON*

The even breathing of the man sleeping beside her drowned out the ragged gasp that escaped her lips upon waking. The back of her hand wiped the beaded sweat on her brow, heart heavy with the sorrowful dream that had woken her. Her lapiz eyes were immediately drawn to the cradle that lay empty in the corner of their room, and she clenched them shut, focusing on the distant sound of the waves crashing against their shores to calm her. Her father had built that simple cradle the moment she had been born, with hopes that one day she’d fill it many times over and tell her children tales of their legendary grandmother, her mother, who had been twice as beautiful as she had been brutal. It pained her, that her father’s hopes had thus far been in vain. 

The dreams came often, a mirror of reality where the cradle remained empty, the hearth cold and full of ash, her body grown old and broken from a life of empty victories. She saw the life of a shunned witch in these dreams, weak, crooked, and alone. Her ancestors would have no reason to celebrate or praise her, because there was no pride in such a life. Growing old, leaving no one to see her into Valhalla’s great halls in this life, or the next. No one to tell the tales of her family’s great legacy.

Milena was still young, still full of strength and promise, a celebrated Shield Maiden despite her shortcomings of the home. As a daughter of Freyja, blessed by the Goddess of love and wealth, fertility and good fortune, she followed in her mother’s footsteps being well known for her beauty and power. Yet she found herself not graced with the promise of any great legacy, no children to honor her house or her name, the name of her ancestors, Elska. Tears welled in her eyes, heart still pounding as Milena shifted to her side to run her fingers along the fine carvings of their marriage bed that Asger, her husband, was so proud of. He built it himself as a wedding gift with the promise that he would fill their home with the laughter of children.

While the bed was beautiful, her home remained quiet, and void of that promise made by Asger, as well as his parents when they negotiated their marriage contract with her father. His parents expressed that they had land, were notable members of their clan, and their son was lit from within with Balder’s beauty. That last bit was perhaps the only truth as he was striking to look at, a decent farmer with a bit of land in his name, and he was even charming when he wanted to be. To a doltish girl who had only just picked up a shield to fight, the first of her friends to be married, it had felt like a promise of perfect love.

Even so, six years passed and where she grew in notoriety for her skill with a shield and blade, it seemed that marriage she felt so blessed in once was as false as his family’s promises. They tried, the Gods knew they tried, and what was once done as a pleasurable act of love, had grown cold as nothing more than a laborious duty. Even then, as she lay by his side, body soiled and sweat still chilling on her skin from their fevered efforts that very night, there was an empty feeling inside of her. One telling that those efforts had once more been completely fruitless.

Carefully, Milena slipped from under the warmth of the furs that still warmed their bed in the early days of Spring. She pulled a fine robe of orange weave over her shoulders, bending to scratch a very furry white mountain cat between his ears, prompting him to follow her with loud purrs as she padded through their timber home to seek solace by moonlight.

The settlement was silent by this hour, save the few dying embers of fires left from farmers who had treated themselves to ale after a hard day of plowing in the fields, long since retired to their wives and children. The sea was silver when she reached the shore, sand cool beneath her feet, the backdrop of mountains and forests a perfect picture of calm beneath a bright white moon. Milena allowed exactly one solitary tear to slip down her cheek before she wiped away the other with hard conviction and lifted her eyes to the stars so vivid in the night sky. 

"Oh Freyja, do I anger the Gods so?" She took a deep breath to keep her resolve. Normally, she would pray to Sif and Frigg for the blessings of children that had yet to come, but it seemed as though her pleas fell upon an undestined desire. She'd tried so hard to be a good wife, to become round with child and warm their hearth with a well kept household. 

In preparation for Motherhood, she'd perfected the loom to clothe her children, learned to farm, fish, and hunt to feed them and keep them warm. Lastly, she could fight with the toughest of men with no fear to hold her, if only to offer protection to a family that would not grow. So tonight Milena prayed to the Goddess who had blessed her, so maybe she could carry out her legacy and pass on all of her skills and knowledge. 

"Alone inside myself, I ask for your blessings. I seek your comfort inside of a lonely marriage, and ask for children. Should our union be blessed no longer I seek your hand to guide me as you always have. Send me a sign of the path you intended for me and I will follow. I fear I have been misguided into his arms by those under our Gods who do not understand your intentions for me...." She sniffled, wiping under her eye with the back of her hand, as another unbidden tear escaped after all. "I want to love him, Freyja..." 

She dropped to her knees in the damp sand, petting her cat Arti as he purred and rubbed against her with a comforting sound while she so distractedly glanced with longing at her ship bobbing in solitude at their docks. It was a fine Longship elegantly carved and inlaid with gold from her most successful raid somewhere a bit North but to the West where it was a touch warmer. Settlements of stone houses riddled with gold and treasures stored in vast structures of worship under a singular God. She used her share of the gold to adorn the helm of her ship, a gorgeous carved tribute to Freyja herself guiding them through the stormy seas toward blessed victory. The Idol was battered now, worn from the triumph she'd seen, and it was here that Milena felt a call for freedom she only ever found in that ship out on the open seas. She found her gaze fixed just passed it, to the North, if she read the brightest star correctly. 

Milena was born in the house beside her Chieftain Sefa, better known as Jarl Sefi. Standing side by side they could have been sisters, and she loved her as such. Sefi’s house beamed with favor from Odin’s wife Frigga, a lineage of powerful women who ruled their lands were born of her house, tasked to protect the secrets of their Gods from spilling into Midgard’s realm. What passed through the lips of men in stories and legends were real in the lands around their prosperous settlement, and while Sefi’s powers were a mystery to even her, Milena swore her life to protect her. It was a burden the young Jarl took on with serene grace, and quiet brutality, charming even the Moon God Mani into favoring them with powerful tides. As a woman well past the age of marrying, Sefi even maintained her maidenhood in a display of power until she found a man deemed worthy of calling her husband, an equal to fulfill her duty to her lineage by giving her a daughter.

Unheard of in their culture, their clan consisted of mostly women, but they were more powerful than King Erland’s balmy South, or the brutal King Killer of the North. Sefi’s family had always taken measures to keep outsiders knowledge of their settlement limited to legend, passed on from the mouths of men, spreading fear and disbelief. Stories of the strange creatures lurking in their waters, entire fleets simply disappearing, and news from the West of Siren-like women who raided and pillaged whole cities, desecrating houses of their God. With great vanity, those were Milena’s favorite stories because they were stories of her greatest victories and on some of her trade routes the versions shifted, saying she and her Maidens were more likened to Valkyries. 

Those stories were the beginnings of her reputation, as legendary as a Shield Maiden as she was in her beauty. Her gift was her voice, a weapon of enchantment and seduction, something all too fitting for someone as blessed as she was, powerful in her gifts as she was within the community. She was one of Sefi’s few trusted women so wrought with power tasked to see to the security of their home and her lineage. A happy burden, as it was a path Milena followed very closely behind her long departed mother.

Even Asger’s family had been received with caution, just a family of farmers from a town further inland on one of their main trade routes. Normally, the joined families would reside together, but by request of an ancient and dangerous guardian, Sefi had to add a clause into their marriage contract that his family would not be allowed to relocate there. Asger visited with them often, making him one of their key producers in trade, and simultaneously keeping Milena wholly responsible for him. It was precisely the reason that as she sank further down into the sand in prayer, she felt so fooled. 

Gathering Arti to her chest, she buried her face in his thick fur and clenched her eyes. They’d been in love once, nearly six years ago when they first exchanged swords and spoken their vows. Milena remembered sneaking off while the arrangements of their marriage were still being made to explore the forests, and steal the boat of the old man who lived in the house just across from hers for joyous and sometimes heated adventures along the shoreline. Asger was beautiful, and charming and could work a plow to feed a family. He had always been enough for her until as a warrior she began venturing to other lands, learned the thrill of battle, and felt the honor of the Goddess that smiled upon her. Until she bore no children and Asger became poisoned with bitterness, and jealousy of her love for the sea as well as the few men that sailed with her in her fleet. 

A withering, and now very tired sigh deflated her. Turning with a lingering glance at Freyja's carved profile at the helm of her ship, Milena returned to her bed before her husband would notice her absence. A prayer still on her lips. She would perhaps sleep a bit more before Asger woke her with amorous demand to fill her once more before he took to the fields for the morning. Before his loving lips and arms turned sour with the first indication that she would bear him no children, their fruitless efforts only proving to be poison to an already troubled house. Perhaps he began to notice her eyes drifting North over dangerous waters, and that Milena had already begun to ready her ship.

* * *

It was late enough that the moon was making its slow descent toward the horizon, far later than Jarl Kjaran the King Killer cared to be awake. Seemingly forgotten by the Jarl, his younger companion observed with weary green eyes as the hulking silver-haired man paced up and down along the opposite side of the lengthy table in his great hall, sipping ale from a horn and sulking listlessly back and forth in front of him with the restlessness of a discontented wolf. Zephyr yawned, breaking the silence and continued to study the rather advanced map sprawled on the table between them, jarring Kjaran from his thoughts as though he finally remembered the other man was even present. 

“We should strike now. They would least expect it _ now _." Kjaran muttered, tapping a restless finger against the lip of his cup. He hadn't slept well in weeks, often resulting in one of his trusted companions keeping him company well into the late hours. Mostly Zephyr volunteered to stay behind, as he was still learning the ways of these strange seafaring men who’d become so kindred to him, and for that, Kjaran was grateful. 

"Firstly, we've just barely planted the crop. Secondly, the seas will still be riddled with potential ice able to sink even larger vessels than our own along the way. Lastly, there's no telling what else might linger in those waters, or what we'll find if we do manage to make it there. I’ve heard the stories, it's too great of a risk." Zephyr leaned forward, his fingers rubbing at his eyes sleepily before offering his Jarl an incredulous look. "Besides you aren't just talking about raiding them, you're talking about overthrowing a settlement no one has ever seen. Another Jarl who is said to be powerful enough to sway the tides with her blessings from the very Moon itself. Besides, it's too soon, and again...we've only just planted the first crop. Oh, and you’re drunk." 

"Jǫðurr says it will be a weak harvest. If this keeps up, people will starve, and the Gods know me well enough by now to know that I won't allow that." Kjaran frowned, plopping heavily in a throne draped in thick fur, meeting Zephyr's green eyes with a sigh. “And I can hold my ale just fine, thank you.” 

"So emphasize the trade, travel inland and take more land, or sail to the south. Perhaps we could try England in the Summer again, seek King Erland's aid, surely he can-" 

"England is too powerful for our hordes right now, even if we borrow power they'll be expecting us. We've tried, and all it did was divorce me from my wife for some English Noble who's likely had her burned at the stake, and gifted me with a drunken sailor jailed for defying the Church." A smirk tugged at his lips at that when Zephyr chuckled at the blatant jab. 

"As I recall, it also got you a rather large English vessel and the very BEST sailor to swear his fealty to you and all of your Gods for saving his life." 

That had been two years ago, though the English ship was far beyond Kjaran's comprehension and seemingly too bulky, it was the crown jewel of his trade missions as it was spacious and overly ostentatious. Perfect for transporting large amounts of goods, including livestock. It had been their escape vessel from their raids of England, commandeered by he and his men while the rest of his people fled in warships. A perfect distraction for their retreat. At first, Kjaran thought he might live in it and sail the world, but the only person in their settlement that could navigate the thing was Zephyr himself, so the vessel remained his. 

Despite the fortune gained during that venture, the raids that year hadn’t been kind to the Jarl. Kjaran hadn't expected the sudden divorce, performed improperly without the sanctuary of their home, though the English prisoner that was once known as Zane Harlington, now merely Zephyr, bore witness it wasn’t enough. It angered the Gods enough that in his absence, an illness also embraced his only Son, and carried him away to Valhalla. A broken bond between the boy and his mother who had abandoned them both. The price of broken favor. 

No one ever spoke to Kjaran about those raids. It was why for the past two years he remained so restless for some sort of purpose, so reckless in some of his decisions. He’d never been a warm or welcoming man, but fatherhood had given him meaning, his wife had given him a purpose once, and he blamed her for his loss most of all. Shaking off the memory, Kjaran stood once more, taking the few strides to prop himself on his hands, hovering over the map sprawled on the table in front of Zephyr. His piercing blue eyes bore into an uncharted piece of the map with hardened determination before he spoke with a hushed urgency. 

“If we wait until Summer to raid, they will be more expecting of it. The battle in the West is ongoing and further North is barren. The East will recover in time but for now, it’s picked clean. There is promise to the South in that alcove between us and our King, I can feel it.” The converted Englishman shifted, peering up into the conviction of his face. Kjaran wasn't a rash man, never one to simply do anything without a purpose. It was clear something called to him, a sweet siren's song that sang of deliverance of some kind. He was one of the richest Jarls in the settlements dotting the Scandinavian coastline, the strongest, and perhaps the most feared and fearless of them all. His pointed finger seemed to jar Zephyr some, redirecting his attention to a very specific point on the map. "Here is where their settlement is said to be, can you plot a course?"

"Yes, but even if we do win their land, we know only rumors about the terrain. Stories of creatures only our Gods have ever witnessed, and a tribe of women who have yet to be defeated by any force of the Nine Realms. Which is ridiculous, by the way." Ridiculous or not, Zephyr was clearly already mapping the course, vivid green eyes trailing slowly from their settlement downward and far off course from their usual journey to raid, or act on King Erland's summons. A journey Kjaran knew would be riddled with trepidatious waters of the unknown, heavy with the mythos of their Gods, and potentially women that were more than just human. Or they would find nothing at all.

"Their lands are fertile for crops more valuable than oat, the waters full of fish, and mountains marbled with iron for trade. If their fleet is as they say, it would double our numbers and our power. There is potential for time to regroup before the Summer raids even though that might be well worth missing to work their lands and gather wares for trade." The Jarl scoffed at the look gained from Zephyr's disbelieving skepticism and stood to pace once more. "The North is cold, the land dry, and frankly if we become more populated we'll be ill fit to feed our people." 

"The North has been kind to us. Are you sure the merit is worth the risk? Erland would be made legendary by your accomplishments but I think he'd rather you return his boats and his crew in one piece. And what of the legends? Those waters are dangerous, and the terrain rocky, said to be riddled with Sirens and who knows what else beyond the mists." 

"They are women. Legend has made people fear them but at the end of the day, our tribes will outnumber them. As you said they may very well not exist. Either way, there will be an abundance of land to claim and explore. I fail to see how it could end badly." 

"What of this Serpent of Midgard, Sirens, threats of the sea known only to the Gods in tandem to those known to mortal men? Do you think their magics and tricks won't be dangerous? Their tribe is said to be blessed by the Moon itself, Gods who control the tides. Shield Maidens who are more likened to Valkyries and some that can bend those sea demons to their will, beautiful enough to make anyone fall in love with them-"

"That is the most foolish thing you've ever said in my presence. If they exist, and their Clan and lands are so blessed by the Gods then it is all the more reason to prove our worth. You may have forsaken your Christian God for Odin's Legion and sworn fealty to Erland-" 

"I swore my fealty to you Kjaran. I'm only saying that if any of these legends are true, their lands hidden by the mists could spell trouble. " 

"Jǫðurr is preparing a fleet, using some of your English upgrades to our sails and building sturdier boats. Nefir forges much stronger weapons and shields for us, and we will bring the masses. I'm waiting to hear word on further aid from neighboring tribes. But we set sail, just after we finish planting the harvest with plans to return in time to reap our crops. I will worry about Erland's blessing, and I leave it to you to path our way." 

* * *

Sea salt carried on the wind, adding a pleasant flavor to full lips quenched with a thirsty tongue. The air held an Earthy fragrance of soil from the nearby farms, men and women busy with planting their no doubt bountiful harvest. Her blue eyes hardened, squinting out over the horizon. North again. 

She crossed her leather clad arms, and the wooden landing groaned under her feet at the shift of her weight, a reminder that repairs were due to be made with the now budding Spring. Yet her brows furrowed, as another deep breath held the frigid scent of snow. The obscenely large Mountain Cat beside her lifted his face as well, the wind ruffling his long white fur as his nose wiggled. His green eyes shifted to her in an almost knowing fashion as though he caught the scent as well.

A sign, or perhaps an opportunity. It was always North for her lately, ice still slow to thaw and dangerous to sail, yet perhaps some answer to her prayers pulled her in that direction be it duty, curiosity, or destiny. Their clan had never raided in the North before, always avoiding territories that held other clans in self-preservation. The simple fact that they were a tribe dominated by women would put targets on their backs, and Milena wasn't one to cause war amongst their people. It was safest to hold the peace their ancestors created with gifts from other realms and maintain the mystery that shielded them. Other countries were their targets, still seen as a non-threat because of their gender which made the raid so much easier. Trade ships were her favorite, feeding into their legacy as the Sirens she commanded, or the Valkyries they were rumored to be. 

Those rumors always kept Milena on her guard, in wait for the day another clan grew too curious, or the Western world to brazen as to venture into threat ridden waters. True, their lands were occupied and blessed, their alcove of sea nestled in valleys between mountains and forests were a gateway to other realms of Midgard. Blessed with powers beyond their own comprehension and creatures the world outside their mists had never faced. It was her duty to protect their secrets, or risk the threat of having Ragnarok unleashed upon them all.

Something about this draw North didn't feel right. Not the usual call to action she felt in the face of such threats but more of a turbulent feeling of something big coming. Milena remembered her prayers, her hopes for change, and knew to stay wary, for the Gods often placed obstacles to overcome before any path became clear. An obstacle from the North.

''Wife." Asger called to her from the landing, leaning on one of the posts to watch her with crossed arms. He was filthy of course, breaking from the farm for a meal no doubt she had been expected to prepare instead of gazing into the distance over steady waves of the sea. Handsome as he was, the sight of him brought her little joy. Milena turned to greet her husband dutifully, the large white mountain cat as always close to her side with a quick saunter over the wooden dock. 

"Husband." She chided back sidling toward him in mock flirtation. The quirk of his lip, a somewhat amused gleam of his peridot eyes seemed so genuine in comparison to the smile she offered him. 

"Spring has only just graced us with soil fertile enough to farm, and you're already plotting how quickly you can board your ship and sail away from me." The bite to his voice negated the affection of the arm he laced around her shoulder, the bittersweet kiss to her temple. "You never were the patient one, but the Summer raids will be here before you know it." 

"Are you not eager for me to leave again? I'm sure it's been a very long, very cold winter without the beds of your lovers." Milena raised her brow at him, giving him a side-eye that removed his arm from her shoulders. 

"We should take the year for children if you worry about my fidelity so. Magnhildr can certainly manage the raids without you." Green eyes hardened in their path to meet hers. "It's your very restlessness that bears us no children. How are you going to keep a home when you're scarcely in it? Give us a year." 

"Something's on the wind. I need to pray on it, seek Ragna's wisdom." She gazed up at her Husband, dirtied from labor. Loving in his own way, possessive in many others. He'd married a powerful woman, favorited by Freyja and their Chieftain. Her beauty unsurpassable by beings of any realm with curiosity to match. Asger's breath was defeating, knowing he'd never win that battle, she'd taken two years in their six year marriage in attempts to bear children with no result. Milena came up on her toes to kiss his dirt smudged cheek, his cropped hair wild from early morning chores. "We will try again tonight, until dawn if you'd like." 

"Such promises to be broken by your reckless notions. Pray as you need to, Wife, we will try again tonight if you're so sure last night was not sufficient." She knew it hadn't been. Milena was certain his bitterness had a great more to do with their failures, his jealousy that she loved the sea more than his arms. 

"At least have the courtesy to use my name if you'll be so accusatory. It is your bitterness that poisons this marriage, Asger. If you tended to your wife as you tend our farm, maybe your seed would grow more than just your own resentment." 

Without waiting for his no doubt infuriated response, a poison dart to shoot back at her in attempts to make her feel inadequate, Milena hurried her step toward Jarl Sefi's longhouse. A sanctuary that was far more welcoming than her own.

"Hi Luna," Milena greeted upon entry to the house warmed by a large fire just in front of Sefi's throne. The large black mountain cat lifted her head, padding toward them to greet her own furry white companion. They butted heads in greeting, slinking off together to nap by the hearth. She'd raised them both from kittens, leaving one to Sefi in Freyja's protection during her absences. The large black beast had taken to her right away, named Luna by Sefi for the blessings on their clan, and for safe tides to ensure Milena's return from whatever voyage she'd set sail on. 

Sefi smiled, dismissing her Thralls with a gracious nod so she could stand and embrace her friend. Milena knew she appeared troubled. Between her intuitions of what was to come and her errant Husband, she was ready to sail away. The Chieftain wore white robes and silver, white fur of rabbits that complimented her imposingly long, Goddess-like pale blonde hair. Her straight backed authoritative demeanor melted into a maiden's enthusiasm at the sight of Melina, all gold with hair that rivaled Sif's, and eyes of the seas she sailed.

"What is it, Millie?" Sefi always dropped her utterly powerful exterior for her in private, especially when it was so apparent how desperately she needed a sister more than a Jarl. "If Asger is being insufferable again there is always a bed for you here." 

"Asger is always being insufferable." She pulled back to acknowledge Sefi's all too blue eyes and rolled her own at the thought of her husband. "A foolish girl's yearning for pretty things grants the woman exactly what she deserves. He is the least of my troubles for now. Would you come with me to visit Ragna? I assume she is here." 

"Of course... has something else happened?" Worry furrowed her brow as Sefi guided her through the house toward one of the back chambers where the Seer spent her days in refusal to leave the Jarl's side. 

"Just a feeling... I smelled snow on the breeze-" A loud caw interrupted her thought, one of two huge black ravens announcing their entrance to Ragna's room. 

"Huginn and Muginn have brought news less fortunate than frost to ruin our crop." Ragna stood by the birds, her finger deftly stroking the feathers of one of her messengers. They were named for Odin's own children, two ravens that brought the news of men to their AllFather. Milena wasn't convinced they weren't Odin's very own, for they always brought them news only Ragna could hear, and it was never wrong. 

"I've felt something coming... from the North." Milena stepped toward the perching birds earning another caw. Ragna shifted toward them, hair to match the ravens, braided back and piled away from her face. She often wore heavy robes and sat gazing into a fire no matter the season, and her skin pale from hardly leaving Sefi's house. Ragna was a dark beauty, ethereal and mysterious. No one knew her origin, only that she'd always been there gifting them with wisdom and information. Premonition flashed behind her eyes, shifting from Sefi to her, she nodded exactly once.

"Brave Tyr seeks us from the North. He brings hordes and plans for great upset of our people." 

"Tyr? The brave God of War surely doesn't mean to seek us out to harm us. He is a just God, is he not?" Milena raised a brow, eyes searching the room for a map so a location could be pinpointed. Her fears of their settlement becoming discovered seemingly very real. 

"The King Killer will not pass through the rocky passage, he will go around the islands, braving far more deadly beasts than he's prepared for. You can cut him off there, before his people even get close." Milena met the Seer's eyes, there was a warning in them as if to say she'd better not let them down. She needed to protect the balance, their people, Sefi’ lineage, and the impending threat of Ragnarok. 

They'd never raided the North before, ruled by an ambitious Jarl said to be as cold as the lands he came from. A wealthy settlement based only by his brazen gambles, and raids of lands too advanced for many tribes to handle. Many threw their fealty to the Jarl, and those who betrayed him never survived. Their King, residing South of even her settlement favored this Northern Jarl above all others for the riches and protection he offered. That alone made her curious of the treasures he might possess, what wealth could be gained from storming their shores. 

It had only been a few years now since he raided a major city in England to the West. Undecided if he was victorious since the English were still thirsty for what they referred to as “Pagan” blood. Milena knew he killed their previous King in Erland's name, unsure why he didn't just take the throne for himself. Perhaps rumors of his silver hair marked him too old for the task, his bold actions those of an old man, desperately seeking his passage to Valhalla. 

It was late when Milena finally made her way home, Ragna’s words leaving her unsettled and more restless than before. She left Sefi’s house to bide the day with her strongest warrior Magnhildr, training and making preparations to set sail within the week. She found Asger bitterly sharpening his knife by the fire aside a cup of mead, one of many if she had to guess. He paused, shifting his eyes before he continued with more vigor at running the blade along the grindstone. 

"I hear you're preparing a fleet. This early you'll be sunk by a rogue berg of ice before you even make it to open water." 

"Asger... please do not think I don't want to stay, to warm your bed and make our family whole." She leaned tiredly against the doorframe, allowing Arti through to seek the warmth of the fire. 

"Then stay." He pleaded, lips tensed into a frown that almost looked sad instead of bitter. He loved her, she knew he did in some way, a thing that ran colder than the waters she was about to set sail on. He'd said too many hurtful words, spurned her for women he thought she was ignorant to, and still with all his passion for her, he somehow managed to make her feel like she was less than. There were still moments like this that Asger gave her hope, but she knew there wasn't time for their marital issues. Someone was coming to cause them harm, and he should have known that she couldn't allow it.

"You know I cannot. Ragna has seen a great threat coming, something even I felt, and I must see to the safety of our people. If I allow it to pass it could ruin us all." With this, he threw aside the stone he'd used to sharpen his blade and part of her expected him to try and turn the blade on her in some poor attempt to save his pride. Milena could snap him like a twig if she wanted, with any item in the house including the flimsy blade he'd presented her at their wedding. It had been endearing once as a young naive maiden, insulting as a warrior meant to give that blade to her Sons. The knife, however, was tossed onto the table they rarely dined on and Milena found herself pressed against the door, drowning in his desperate kisses.

"At what point did you stop being mine? Our enemies seem to have a greater claim on you than I." Asger mumbled against her neck, hands fumbling to remove the light armor and leather she wore. She'd play along, of course, only quickening the dawn with empty pleasures that would leave her with a somehow emptier cradle, so she tore at his clothes in an effort to get it over with. 

"Likely the moment you started speaking like I was a sacrificial goat. Which you WILL stop if this is going to go any further." Milena breathed, attempting to hide the utter disdain in her sigh for pleasure. 

"If you say so, Wife." His lips caressed her neck in ways that once thrilled her until he began to use those lips for such demeaning, possessive purposes. After all, within the week after her departure, there were at least two other beds she knew he'd be entertaining in her absence.

Asger threw her with passion to their marriage bed, plunging himself into her with little patience for anything outside the ceremony of the act. She prayed as pleasure overcame her torment by the grace of his beauty alone, seeking her favors from Freyja instead of those who offered their blessings over fertility and wedlock. It seemed they did not smile on her, maybe they never did. Asger offered her his own whispered words, sweet with promising devotion because contrary to his behavior she believed he did care for her, possessive and selfish as he was. 

She wanted to weep, not from the beauty of the act as he shuttered his first release into her, one of many that night she was certain by the bruising grip he kept on her, but in realization. Words of prayer raced through her mind, words that would haunt Milena in the days to come as her Maidens were gathered with resources for the coming journey. Such hope was slipping between her fingers that her husband's love was for more than her beauty, the power she promised, and protection her status offered. All things he owned like their house and farm were under their wedding contract. Things she realized made her far more ready to sail out into treacherously dangerous waters to face an unknown threat, to seek Valhalla than to spend another night in their bed.

The day they set sail was worse than any before it. Their marital issues long becoming popular gossip amongst the Thralls and merchants, a public affair that brought her shame that Asger fittingly remained shameless about. The whole settlement gathered to bring Milena gifts of fur, food, and good tidings. Families of Shield Maidens embraced and rejoiced their hopes for victory and fortune, but mostly protection. 

"Should I count on your return for the Harvest?" Asger asked blandly, making no move to embrace her or wish her well. 

"Maybe before, if you pray for a swift and bountiful journey, I'll grace your arms for a time before the raids." His lips tightened as she gazed into his handsome face in search of any source of love or longing.

"I will pray that Magnhildr returns you to me safely, and round with our child. You're a fool to go. You shame us both for this, for walking away when you might be with child." Milena frowned, knowing Mag would watch carefully while she secured sails and helped to load their supplies. Her strongest Shield Maiden would have no kind words to say. In fact, she half expected the broader woman to threaten Asger for his cruel words. She'd nearly killed him twice now, drunk or sober, there was never a friendly word between them.

"You shame us both for your infidelity and empty seed, Farmer. Maybe this, the fight that protects my people _ and _ you is the only redemption I have from the shame you bring me. The only glory that washes away the shame of their rumors." Her glare turned deadly, as did his at her acid words bit between clenched teeth. Jarl Sefi had joined the crowd with Ragna and Atla at her side, ready to step in if needed, discouraged by Mag herself when she went to greet them with a subtle shake of her auburn head.

"Farmer? Am I no longer at least your Husband?" They stared a moment in tense silence, Milena tempted to spat words of a decision she'd made those nights ago and resolved to hold her tongue. "Fine, seek Valhalla if you must, you'll get no celebration from me. Excuse me while I go and shame us further." He hadn't noticed the tense grip Milena held on the knife at her side, only releasing it's grip with Magnhildr’s fingers gently wrapping around her wrist. 

"Save your rage for this Northerner that threatens us." Mag spoke low, her emerald eyes like poison to Asger's retreating back as he pushed his way through the crowd back toward the village. Milena sighed, meeting her dearest friend’s concerned stare. "Or it's not too late, I can string him up on the bow to frighten our foes." 

"No... I will deal with him when more important matters are settled. Are we in full preparation for whatever lies ahead of us Mag?" The much taller girl nodded, looking fierce, always ready for the fight before it even reached her sights. 

"Shouldn't you tell him about the divorce?" Milena snapped her attention to Magnhildr, knowing she should know better than to hide her intentions from a woman blessed by Odin's wrath and favored by his wife Sif. 

"When we return, I will end it." She spoke softly, uncaring that Sefi, Ragna, and Atla would hear in their approach to wish them safe travels. Milena shifted her eyes among them, each knowing in their own way. Divorce was never her intention, never a belief she placed much stock in as a Sovereign of the Heart. "Should Valhalla claim me this journey, I would rather him celebrate my departure than mourn a broken heart." 

"You're sure." Atla interjected with a gentle hand. A hand that kept their settlement veiled in thick fog and heavy mists at a great perimeter. She could bend the ice and water in both deadly and healing ways, held sway over an ancient protector of their sacred seas. "I will delay clearing the veils of mist and fog for your travels until you've declared your divorce final. There is a little time, and Eir always lends me her merciful touch." 

"I thank you Atla," She thought a moment, her path feeling so clear to her as it often did before the thrill of danger. "but lower the mists in a few days time, clear my path to victory. The Gods have long forsaken my marriage to a fool. When I return to you all with a fleet of ships and either the Northern Jarl as my hostage, or his head, I will see to my personal errands. I'll break it off when I return." 

* * *

"You're a fool." Erland followed Kjaran along the banks of their settlement, frost still sparkled on their grounds in the early morning while his men loaded supplies into fleets of ships both his own, and borrowed. 

"Says the King who offered half his fleet for the errand." Kjaran remained distracted, pale eyes shifting along docks to ensure they'd have all they needed. An uncanny ability of his to overplan, and overcompensate. 

"I agreed to watch the North in your absence in case you need to send a Raven for help. I did NOT agree for you to drag our best blacksmith, boatsmith, and sailor on this either dangerous or pointless trip." Kjaran stopped, eyeing his King a few inches shorter than himself. Powerful in his own right, Erland met his icy stare with equal conviction in his cobalt eyes. "At least leave Zephyr. Nefir can navigate the stars."

"No. I need Zephyr, he plotted the course he'll need to guide us." 

"And if I need to come to your aid?" Erland stopped at the dock, arms folded under a thick cape of black fur, glaring in defiance. There were exactly four men who ever dared speak to the King so casually and often insubordinately. Coincidentally, all of them were closest in the Northern Jarl's council. 

Kjaran, only because he actually killed a man to secure Erland's throne and remained loyal beyond expectation for reasons no one knew or understood. Nefir, because he was the most skilled of blacksmiths and the fiercest warrior he'd ever met. Jǫðurr, because his ships were the very best. Able to sail dangerous waters, faster than any others, and because he was a beautiful orphan of no origin and swore fealty without doubt or question to Kjaran. Zephyr was an outsider of course, but his mind sharper than Nefir's blades, he was tactfully reckless and a brilliant sailor. He'd forsaken his own God for their many, willing to follow Kjaran anywhere on a life debt.

"You'll be fine. Zephyr left you a map." He nodded toward Nefir, boarding the largest boat ready to set sail. The air was alive with anticipation, large ax-wielding men ready to meet whatever destiny sprawled over the open waters. Finally, he resigned to his dark haired King, meeting deep blue eyes that merely said 'don't make me tell you I told you so.' 

"Well...may the Gods be kind and grant you safe passage, or open their halls to Valhalla for your grand entrance with Valkyries of golden hair. Just don't lose my ships." A boyish, dimpled smile spread to his handsome features, hand clapping on Kjaran's shoulder. 

"I will return them personally King Erland. We wouldn't want to cause you to worry for our well being now, would we." The tall, silver haired Jarl shared a brief laugh, anxious himself to sail toward new lands and greet the strange creatures and beings of the Gods, or perhaps he would find nothing at all. Either way, he sought better for his people and prayed with a kiss to the rune of Tyr on his sword that his foolish bravery could grant them a better place. 

"Send a raven at the first sign of trouble and I will come. While I don't believe we should abandon the North completely, I do ask Odin to deliver fertile lands and maybe a more powerful fleet." Erland crossed an arm over his chest in a salute that Kjaran mimicked as Jǫðurr called out from their boat.

"My people, our people, deserve better and I plan to deliver it. I'm not passed shedding blood to do so." He spoke, ignoring his crew who grew rowdy with their restlessness to hit water. 

"So I'm aware." Erland replied trying to maintain regality while their crew, and closest friends, made kissy faces among other gestures at the duo still lingering on the dock. "I think the promise of adventure and potential riches has them more worked up than usual." 

"Just kiss already! Summer will be here before we set sail at this rate!" Jǫðurr and Nefir were often partners in crime that rivaled the mischief of Loki, one never far from the other. Nefir impatiently watched from the helm while Jǫðurr draped himself over the ornate dragon head of the Jarl’s ship, both continuing their antics. Kjaran rolled his eyes at this, shooting a glare behind him that might have iced over the entirety of the port harboring their massive fleet.

"I'll find our King a Queen myself if it means I don't have to watch you two kiss!" Nefir responded with a loud, barking laugh.

"Speaking of spilling blood, I’ll do my best to only sacrifice one of the goats if needed, unless you think the Gods would rather have Jǫðurr’s pretty blonde head?” They shared an easy laugh, a knowing look before Kjaran’s expression resumed its grave stoicism. “I hope to bring Odin pride, my King. By Tyr's fearlessness, I will hope to encounter many wonders, and bring our people better harvest, more land, and safety." 

"And despite their idiocy, bring my crew back in one piece?" 

"And your ships of course." Kjaran replied, the two partaking in a brotherly embrace before the Northern Jarl jumped to his boat from the dock. It was rare to see elation, excitement in his icy blue eyes or on his otherwise troubled lips. And from shore, their King uttered a prayer to Odin for the Gods to favor his brothers and deliver them a safe return. 

_ May the Gods of Asgard guide your steps toward their gates. _

_ In your journey, may it be safe, and filled with light. _

_ May you find strength from Thor in your darkest hours. _

_ May you find bravery from Tyr in times of trepidation. _

_ May you find wisdom from Odin in times of confusion. _

_ May you find beauty and lasting bonds from Freyja and Freyr. _

_ May your web be spun tightly with that which makes you stronger, happy and wise. _

_ And may the Gods always look upon you with good grace. _


	2. A Deadly Song

Land was merely an idea, a whisper of a silhouette on the horizon. As per usual, Kjaran’s fleet followed the land south, keeping a few miles between them and the shoreline to stay out of sight from other clans and close enough that they could return to land if needed to rest, resupply, or escape any outlying threat they may encounter by way of the sea. Nights and mornings still held a brisk bitter air, carried down with them from the Northern waters still partially frozen and treacherous. The journey itself would take a week at best, maybe more, so after a few days, like anytime you gather a group of men in tight quarters for an extended amount of time, they were bound to get restless. 

Sure. they’d stop on some remote shore long enough to cook up some fish, perhaps bathe in the nearest creek and catch a bit of rest that didn’t come so easily on a ship at sea. Kjaran, of course, preferred the gentle rocking of the waves to the security of solid ground, the promise of adventure that lay beyond these lands and stretches of sea that he’d already seen. They had their songs and stories to keep them since the winds were too strong to play cards, the sea too turbulent for board games. Though some were more vocal about their apparent boredom than others.

“This is why we wait till Summer to raid. We’re going to freeze our fucking balls off.” Jǫðurr bit with a haughty frown, wrapping himself in yet another fur like some King as though he hadn’t been found on a beach when he was younger, an orphan vagabond with no past or origin. Kjaran embraced him into their clan when he’d only just taken the seat as Jarl, seeing as Jǫðurr had already accepted their Gods and claimed to have skill with crafting ships and working the land, earning his fealty had been easy. He had nowhere else to go and his loyalty left Kjaran with little concern.

"You'll manage." Nefir offered in the patient way he had about him, haphazardly pulling the thick chestnut waves of his hair back in preparation for a shift of rowing. "You might even warm up some if you row for a bit." 

"Always work with you." Jǫðurr scoffed with a roll of his deeper blue eyes, pulling the furs tighter around him with a dramatic shiver and impatient huff. "I built the blessed boat, of course I'll row it. As soon as I regain feeling in my hands. Although, I would work so hard too if I were still clutching to my Mother's pinafore, Nefi." 

"I swear you crawled out of a wolf's ass, Jǫðurr." Nefir grumbled as he took a seat at his chosen rowing station, still salty about the nickname he’d been given, courtesy of Jǫðurr’s trickery which began nearly as soon as he washed up on their shores. “Isn’t that Zephyr’s fur? Surely you haven’t robbed him of it the way you robbed me of my services.” 

"Still on about that? I still say that you forged me that knife out of pity for the poor shape of my old one Nefi, do not ever think I am not grateful." Jǫðurr grinned impishly, watching Nefir's hackles rise and brown eyes harden. Thankfully it was too hard a feat to throw him overboard with the row in his hands for the hated nickname. It all began the first week Jǫðurr joined them, bringing a very worn old knife to Nefir’s forge where he somehow talked him into crafting him a brand new one for free instead of just repairing his old one. Later, the nickname ‘Nefi’ was earned after too much ale when Nefir attempted to fight Jǫðurr, and somehow lost. It began a strange give and take between them, a mischievous and continuous exchange that to Kjaran, was exhausting to listen to. “I more than made up for it with the ship I crafted for you, or did you forget as quickly as Zephyr forgot his fur? Not that he appears to be missing it." 

"You know I couldn't forget that." Nefir's expression softened, something melancholy and longing passed behind his eyes that Kjaran met with a silent understanding, knowing the feeling of loss all too well. "That ship will one day usher my soul to Valhalla to dine with my beautiful wife, Bodil, in great halls of gold. Not that it changes anything, Jǫðurr. Call me names, trick me into smithing what you will, but you'll do well to bite your tongue about my Mother. Someone must look after little Tora while I'm away." 

"My farm feeds them well you know, though you could leave her to Kjaran's Thralls. He has enough of them." It wasn't meant to be a jarring comment, but those same Thralls once tended to Kjaran's own wife and son. It left a bitter taste in his mouth regardless of the innocent intent in which the suggestion was made. 

At this Kjaran turned, pulling one of the many furs Jǫðurr had ceremoniously draped over his shoulders for warmth and tossed the thing to Zephyr. He hadn't even noticed its absence and let the thing simply hit him in the chest and flop sadly to the seat beside him, too concentrated on his navigations to do more than glare at the Jarl with a subtle shift of his chartreuse colored eyes. The day had grown later, sounds of songs rang out from boats nearby as his men sang to entertain themselves and their Gods, to keep spirits light on such a dangerous but promising journey.

"Yes, you do enjoy the comforts of my house. Maybe I'll have you stay with Zephyr for a time before you impregnate my slaves beyond use. Perhaps then you'll find a proper wife instead of populating us with bastards." Kjaran and Nefir were brothers in loss, as Nefir's wife fell ill quickly and perished when their daughter was scarcely a year old. They teased him relentlessly, but his Mother had been the only saving grace for Nefir and little Tora since they were out raiding for many months sometimes. It allowed Nefir to cope with his wife's departure for the next life, and the responsibility for a child that was now entirely his. 

"Some of us are more careful than others. It's not my burden that some men don't know that seed spilled certainly isn't seed wasted." Jǫðurr winked, striding toward one of the barrels of water for a quick drink before retiring to his own bench. 

"Blasphemous swine!" Nefir called out with amusement, removing one hand from his oar to throw a loose slab of his soap at Jǫðurr's back. The two had a very strange brotherhood since the very moment they met and Jǫðurr tricked him into forging that knife, and the boatsmith then built Nefir a boat when his wife died, started calling him Nefi to his despair, and began providing plenty of food for his Mother and Daughter in the same week. 

"It is a thought for next time you know. Leave Tora with my Thralls and give your Mother a rest. She is getting a bit too old to properly tend to children so young." Kjaran offered without looking at anything but the horizon. 

"I will consider it." He replied almost too quiet to hear over the steady sound of the oars slicing through the water. "As you should consider taking another bride. It's unusual for a Jarl to have his King cover his absences in place of his wife. There is no shortage of women eager to warm your bed let alone the throne beside yours." 

At this Kjaran's jaw tensed, his frigid stare drifting toward one of his dearest brothers in arms with stony indifference. 

"You're out of sync with the rowers, do you want to set us off course  _ Nefi _ ?" The exaggerated usage of his hated nickname had Nefir's brown eyes widening at his Jarl before turning to a hardened glare. The smooth, deeper baritone of his voice making the jest all the more offensive in its calm. Finally, Kjaran’s lips caved on one side, lifting with the shortest of laughs in his throat before he walked back toward the front of the ship pulling his fur cloak around him a little tighter. If looks could kill, Nefir would have had the lot of them dead.

Nefir told them stories, read directly from the stars as they blinked to light in the darkening sky while he rowed with an effort that appeared nonexistent. They'd pause to eat another meal of salted fish and water with berries picked and stockpiled during short trips to land, knowing eventually solid ground would be a distant memory. Like children, his deep voice often lulled the men to sleep with well loved stories of their Gods, tales of valor and honorable Northmen, and women with long golden hair. Kjaran himself often stayed awake long after most of his men had fallen asleep, gazing at the midnight skies that opened up and revealed more stars than he'd ever seen. 

Here in private, he could think without monitoring rowing schedules, meals, navigation, and pitching in on rowing himself. He could think about the events of the past couple of years and ponder on his misfortunes. Tyr smiled on him, that much was certain for his victories in battle were renowned, but he couldn't help but wonder what angered the supposedly gentler Goddesses in regards to his home and hearth. 

Kjaran always felt closer to his departed Son in those late, star-filled hours. It came with the most selfish want to hold the child again, knowing in his heart that it was that boy who saw to their safe journey so far from his place in those sacred Asgardian Halls and he felt grateful. Kjaran was content to find glory in death, to seek Valhalla if only to dine with his Son one more time. Of course it was this reason he fought so hard, unable to leave Midgard for glory until whatever he'd done to anger the Gods enough to steal his legacy as Father and Husband was made right. Kjaran often looked at Zephyr as a means to that, an exchange made and path corrected in some way, and other times he wondered if it meant anything at all. 

"I don't know how you sleep like that." Zephyr mused as he jarred him awake with a rough shake. Dawn had barely broken, the Englishman always up before the Sun to make sure he was first to wash his face. "You should rest more." 

"Noted." Kjaran replied with a frog in his throat, trying to work kinks out of his neck from sleeping wrong. He never remembered falling asleep, propped against the bow of his ship in uncomfortable manners. Slumber never lasted as long as it was meant to, it hadn't since he returned from that raid those two years ago with troves of treasure but everything lost. Be it the relentless cramp in his neck, or Jǫðurr's endless antagonizing of Zephyr, he was beginning to think their voyage had been made in vain. 

"Isn't there supposed to be some fog, some mist to block our way at some point?" Jǫðurr, ever the impatient one, was the only one brazen enough to vocalize what they were all thinking. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, standing to swap positions from rowing for a much needed drink of water. It was true, they should have come across something by now, a very specific fork in the waters between rocky and hazardous fjords along the mainland, or an unmarked island to circle around.

"So they say." Kjaran replied, squinting ahead as they'd long passed into waters he'd never sailed before. They seemed darker, deeper somehow yet they hadn't wandered from his normal distance from shore. They were certainly in a more mountainous region, thicker with forest, and something in the air that had his stomach in knots. There was oddly little to no sound, but it was as though a silent song hung heavily on the air and beckoned him forward, setting unease within him that tensed his mouth into a stern grimace. 

Some cultures called them Sirens, variations of Mermaids, and Water Spirits that lured men to watery graves with songs or cries for help. Some had wings and claws, others were half fish, no matter the iteration they were always gorgeous women with a spell on their voice. His mother always called them Nixies, but they were demons all the same, said to haunt the darkest depths of many cultures according to Zephyr who had tales of his own to tell. To Kjaran, they were likely what killed his father, though not many living Northmen he knew had ever heard their song.

"It's too quiet. Even the birds have halted their songs which is dangerous when it comes to navigating foreign waters." Jǫðurr handed Kjaran a cup of water, noting his Jarl hadn't consumed much more than the scenery in days. Too occupied making sure their rowing shifts went according to cycle, and that his men had plenty to drink and eat. It was a welcome distraction from errant thought about strange creatures and stories of the waters they sailed. 

"Perhaps dangerous for you." Zephyr piped in, using his strange compass and map, keen green eyes fixed forward from his station at the steerboard with the air of Western arrogance. Jǫðurr scoffed at this, rolling his blue eyes skyward with another long drawl of water. 

"Englishmen certainly have a bad habit of thinking their swords are bigger than everyone else's. I'd like to see you build an entire fleet in under a year." Preparing to break up another verbal spat, one worthy of small children, Kjaran rolled his own eyes to himself and tried to hold focus on keeping an eye out for ice, or anything unusual. 

"FOG!" Zephyr called out rather suddenly, snapping Kjaran's eyes forward with trepidation that immediately brought sweat to his brow. Jǫðurr was too busy being an ass.

"Yeah sure, we get it, you can navigate through anything including-" 

"NO you simpleton, FOG!" Zephyr exclaimed, steering the ship sharply to remain parallel to the thickest fog they'd ever seen, a perfect wall of it on an otherwise clear evening. Seemingly it came from nowhere, blocking their path yet they somehow hadn't seen it ahead of time. 

"No shit...." Nefir appeared beside Kjaran, with all their eyes widened and staring as though they'd never seen fog before, hardly in a formation as perfect and thick as this. His Jarl swallowed hard, raking a hand through the parts of his silver hair that weren't braided in ceremony and shifted his gaze back to Nefir's battle-ready brown eyes. "I suppose we should keep weapons ready..." 

"Yes." Kjaran muttered before turning to address his ships. Voice booming over the waters. "Keep swords and axes nearby and be wary of song and cries of women. Keep quiet and vigilant, stay on guard as we sail into dangerous tide. Blow horns loudly if you hear songs, and try to drown them out while our warriors fight the beasts if needed. If we are attacked, and Valhalla finds you- give a toast in our honor as you grace the Great Hall. I will do the same for you." 

With that he nodded, signaling the rowers to continue forward out into more open waters and away from the safety of the shoreline, placing them between the unknown and open sea. His men were terrified in their silence, as anyone about to face the ambiguity of uncharted waters would be. Large, bearded men donned in leather and chain armor and equipped with fine weaponry, men that looked like they could take down mountains didn't look right with fear in their eyes. As much as he wanted to offer them some of his foolish bravery, Kjaran was feeling in short supply of it himself. The wall of mist looming to his left, waters growing darker with the hour and no land in sight to his right, he merely kept his face stoic and allowed curiosity and promise of honor to fuel him forward. 

His men communicated silently, with eyes or hand motions to keep the rotations of rowing going. Taking shifts in groups to sleep and eat, the silence was almost as tangible as the wall of fog that seemed to have an icy chill to it that crept up his spine in waves. Unease became apparent in each of them differently. Nefir kept his hair pulled away from his face, thick dark locks that could impair his vision were now braided back and tied in preparation for a fight at any given moment. As night fell, Jǫðurr slept restlessly, apparent vivid dreams that had him mumbling strange, incoherent words Kjaran didn't understand but it unnerved him enough to kick him awake with a booted nudge to shut him up. Zephyr remained alert, only sleeping an hour or two at a time during which the pale haired Jarl took over their navigations between seeing to everything else. 

There was no telling the time when the first horn sounded, it was either very late or very early, but the sky was dark, and the air held a bone chilling cold that mingled with the eerie, lilting sound that rolled across the waves like a perilous fog. They'd spent a few days in ear-splitting silence, so the sound of a warhorn was jarring, sending Kjaran's heart to lodge in his throat with hopes for a false alarm. He heard it then, the ghostly sound of a woman's voice lilting over the fog and he realized they were closer to the islands than he initially thought, just on the other side of this wall of vision impairing mists. 

Reaching for a horn he blew hard, sounding a loud alarm out to ships that may not have heard and the air filled with the sound of war on an enemy he hadn't yet seen. 

"Take up your weapons men!" He rang out between the long sounds of his horn. Handing it off to a man coming out of sleep to take over while he pulled his sword from its sheath. His ice-like blue eyes drifted over the dark waters, focusing on the sounds of horns to avoid falling prey to whatever demoness lurked in the darkness. It was then he watched two men from two different ships simply walk overboard into the dark, a song on the air between the sounds of horns that for the smallest of moments hazed his reason. 

"Get back!" Zephyr had grabbed for the back of his cloak, pulling him back to sanity as he hadn't realized he was one step from walking overboard himself. Kjaran shook himself with a hard blink and shouted for more horns. 

"I thought we lost you." Nefir frowned, frantic brown eyes darting around their boat as the song grew closer. "I don't like this..." 

"ROW HARDER!" Kjaran roared, hoping they might be able to outrun them. Jǫðurr took to the sails, trying to catch the strongest breeze. His eyes went wide as one of the hornsmen dropped his horn to the boat's floor and stood. "Frode...FRODE!" 

Kjaran watched with horror, the elation on the man's face as his steps, his every motion became erratic toward the edge of his boat like a man hopelessly in love, about to dive to his death. Jǫðurr desperately tried to reach for the man but had the ropes of the sails tied in one hand with the need for both. Of course without his horn, the Siren's song rang out loud, and Kjaran quickly watched him lose control over two more men. Nefir grabbed for the horn, his ax in the other, he rang out a loud note to try drowning out whatever woman was calling for help or singing. It wasn't enough to save their oarsmen Frode. 

Kjaran lunged too late to grab him as he simply walked over the edge toward hungry, unseen beasts. He tried to jump in after him, be it a symptom of the siren’s song, or his own desperation to save a man, Nefir grabbed him around the midsection to pull him back.

"Tyr favors brave men, not fools. You'd kill yourself going after him." Nefir was winded, seemingly irritated and distracted, as though he fought the siren's spell himself. "MORE HORNS!" He shrieked directly into Kjaran's ear, and for once he couldn't have been more grateful.

"A little help over here!?" Jǫðurr had to abandon his post, the boat drifting suddenly too close to the mists as chaos erupted without anyone steering, and two more men merely walked off of the Jarl's ship. He had Zephyr in his arms, the younger man with that same elation on his face as he fought to release himself from Jǫðurr's grasp, the siren's song only grew louder. Nefir and Kjaran raced to help, knowing they'd go down together if at all, they began to sing loudly to fill the silence between lost horns. Horns still rang from the remaining crew, and the four men held on to the other singing loud bar songs into each other's ear to drown out the haunting melody that drifted over the dark waters in deadly harmony. 

It was then that Kjaran locked eyes with something just outside his ship. She had dark hair, pale sickly palored skin and dead, inhuman blue eyes glinting like sinister jewels in the dark. Kjaran swallowed hard around a dry lump in his throat, swearing he might have seen a tail of spine-like fins and the gleam of sharpened teeth as her dark lips parted with song. He sang louder, tightening his grip on Zephyr with one arm, his sword with the other, almost daring for this thing to strike. Kjaran swallowed hard when several more pairs of demoness eyes peered back at him from the black waters, terrible and beautiful at the same time.

His throat ran dry with the need for water, voice beginning to give as the men sang as loudly as their voices would carry, horns growing weak for the breath of their hornsmen became shorter with the hours that seemed to pass. His men moved as a unit when they saw hands darker than the night around them begin trying to pull themselves aboard, placing their voices directly in the heads of weaker men to claim them. Kjaran wondered how soon before one of their four was singled out. 

Four pairs of eyes locked in resolute determination, a split second of decision that sent them into motion, this was war. Grabbing what weapons they could find, the four inspired others to do the same. The creature's shrieks were worse than the cacophony of horns and hoarse voices, the spatter of odd colored blood against the wood of his ship as Nefir severed their hands and arms, and Kjaran claimed one of their heads. Spears, arrows, shields, retaliated while men pulled each other from the edge if it was noticed that they were bewitched. 

Kjaran saw many of these things, Siren eyes glinting inhumanly in the dark like horrible embers as the Sun began its rise, marking many hours they somehow fought temptation. He didn't know how many men he'd just lost to these starving creatures that began to show their teeth while others tried to sing or cry out louder to drown them out, and almost succeeded. He didn't know how many they killed while they sang bar songs and odes, whatever they could think of to keep their sanity, which was difficult because, at one time or another, they'd all lost their will.

Kjaran swore he was delirious when the glint of gold shined through the thick fog that seemed to dissipate with the coming Sun. A voice like he'd never heard before sang out louder than all of his horns and the horrible demon-like women surrounding his ship in greater numbers than he imagined. They all turned toward this second Sun, the creatures cowering back under waves that once appeared so dark became clearer and blue. It halted all other noise, this sound, the beauty of it bringing some men to their knees, and Kjaran thought maybe he was in the presence of Freyja herself. 

A ship inlaid with gold, accompanied by a rather generous fleet wasn't the first thing he noticed, his first mistake. But she was beauty incarnate, draped over a golden likeness of Freyja with arms around the idol’s neck and dressed in fine armor and furs. Her hair was gold to rival Sif's, natural without the drying use of lye, intricately braided and decorated with red threading and adorned in charms and bone, but otherwise fine silk. Her eyes held blue better than their mid-day skies, almost violet in hue, hard and daring, deadly even, but held an allure more powerful than the siren's song. One she sang that sent the strange creatures scattering to the unknown depths in apparent terror. 

"Kjaran..." Nefir warned just beside him, tense with an axe soiled by the blood of the sea demons held in a white knuckled fist. The main ship anchored dangerously close to his, the blonde clearly in a lead position sauntering over from her deck to his with a fluid gait of authority. Kjaran wouldn't have found this odd except he gave no permission to board his ship, and she didn't board alone. 

In his distraction, Kjaran didn't see the rest of her fleet moving out from the fog in a very specific formation toward the rest of his ships to cut off any potential movements. His men were likely still rattled and counting losses from the Nixie attacks which boiled anger through him with this woman’s obvious intent. The way those demons fled at the sound of this woman's voice, the timing in which those creatures thinned the population of his men, and her rather convenient arrival. If she had been the Valkyrie Queen Freyja herself he might have taken her timely appearance as a blessing but as she took another step toward him, the Northern Jarl assured himself it was vain to think that she was anything more than just a girl, no matter how beautiful that girl happened to be. 

Her hands raised, a supposed peaceful motion to show she was unarmed save for the sword at her side, a sudden movement that made Kjaran reach for his sword, and he could feel his men tense further behind him. She seemed to appraise them, deciding which of them would be in charge before she spoke and locked her eyes with his.

"I'm only here to negotiate." She announced, voice strangely normal but light and womanly, unlike the ethereal notes that had just poured from her only moments ago. Kjaran never was one for believing petty gossip or rumors, especially ones bold enough to blaspheme his Gods that they would place Goddesses where bold and salty men of the North could touch them. 

"The formation of your ships suggests otherwise." He ground out without wavering his pale eyes from hers. She didn't shrink or budge as some of his long standing Thralls did back home, even after many years of suffering his commanding demeanor. Kjaran did his best to keep his anger in check, her intentions spoken loudly from the imposing position of her ships and the savage looking women peering back at him from behind her. There would be no pleasantries, no polite introductions. "You sent those creatures for us." 

"The Sirens need no order from me to sate their cravings for blood. While we plant our harvest they are ravenous after the winter seasons, as any creature denied food for so long." She remained strangely nonchalant as though Siren-like Nixies didn't just attack in uncharacteristically greater numbers. Kjaran was still thrown that they were real, and had attacked them at all. "I needed you alive Jarl, but if you've lost men, then it's from your own trespasses into waters that you do not understand. That is on you, King Killer." 

"So I owe you some form of thanks?" He bit out between gritted teeth, that legendary temper of his slipping from his grasp, and his hands began to shake with it. Unknowingly, he'd gripped the hilt of his sword, the audacity of this woman who seemingly saw no threat from him was astounding, and beyond infuriating. 

"No. But you will repay me by standing down, and surrendering your ships." Kjaran felt his eyes widen, his grip on his sword becoming cramping. "Listen, the ignorance of what you seek, whatever that may be, from MY people is all that allows you to keep your head. If you would have adhered to tales that I know surround these waters it may have allowed you to keep your fleet as well." 

"Your so called negotiations sound more like terms for war. I am NOT prepared or willing to relinquish my fleet to a fucking witch." Deadliness in his tone brought his men closer, tensing into a formation fit for battle. 

"We are Brothers and Sisters under the same Gods, I am no witch, and I hadn't planned on taking your ships by force. Of course, if you will not listen to, and comply with my terms then your tresspasses here leave me very few options." He eyed her again, the strange and intricate hilt of the sword on her hip, her form strong but womanly, and decorated attire as one highly revered in status. Her eyes, remarkable and blue were furious. Kjaran knew the stories of these women, he hadn’t counted on any aspect of them being true. 

"Call off your ships. I won't tell you again." Her brows raised at his warning, shifting her soot rimmed blue eyes to a Shieldmaiden beside her, a tall auburn haired woman nearly as tall as he was, gripping a spear with hard, viridescent eyes locked onto Nefir at his side. Certainly a brave woman to silently challenge such a fierce and hulking warrior like Nefir, but Kjaran wondered how swift she would be to protect her leader? How fast could he kill this petite blonde Shield Maiden? Their silence was telling, and he knew he'd have to act quickly to ensure victory as further bloodshed would be unavoidable. The Jarl never made it his business to inflict such things on women, but far more than his pride as a Northman was at stake, so he issued his guttural reply of: "So be it." 

Chaos erupted then, not just on his ship but others as well. The sound of clanking weapons rang out over the waters with grunts and cries of battle. Nefir saved him from the spear of the taller Maiden, choosing to take on the broad woman with a force that rocked their ship. Meanwhile, Kjaran found the golden haired Shieldmaiden far more spry and lively, she twisted away from his advance to pull a shield from his own ship’s edge which blocked his next blow. 

"Fool," She growled, clashing her sword with his impressively enough that the bones in his wrist rattled. Her voice quaked not with fear of him, but strain of her skillfully moving blade, each movement made in search for his blood, "Your life is optional. I could quicken your glory to Valhalla and summon back those creatures. I would at least see to it that you earned an honorable death." 

"My sword will find your heart soon enough, vile wretch of a woman." Kjaran spat at her, dodging an axe meant for a different battle. The Maiden rolled her eyes at his threats, ignoring his growls and wrathful glares, there was something impatient about it all. After so many minutes, his sights fell upon his fleet in the background, the waters around his ships becoming red with the blood of his men, and some of her women. He snarled, bringing his sword down fruitlessly against her sword, almost knocking the girl overboard. 

"Do not TEST me Jarl." She spun then, locking her sword with his in a standstill that left her shield clattering to the deck, glaring into his face with conviction that might have made a Giant tremble. 

"There is no honor in falling to a little girl." He snarled, bringing his sword down once more only to miss. She'd spun away gracefully with a growl he could only describe as feral, ducking a swing meant to claim her head she managed to grab the shield again. This woman was ravenously beautiful, wild and distracting in her fury. She was livid from his words, expression dangerously likened to that of a cornered wild cat, but twice as relentless, and fed up.

She released a shrill sound from her lips then, anger blazing her eyes, and Kjaran felt like his head might explode like nothing he’d ever heard before. He could hear nothing else over the rattling of his eardrums and reverberations through his ribcage, dropping his sword to clamp his hands over his ears to try and muffle the sound. It rang out over the waters, disarming many of his men and even her own women who fell to the decks clutching at their ears. It was a split second in his distraction she brought the shield up, slamming the studded front of it hard into his face. 

It all went black in an explosion of pain, the glowering face of a Goddess being last thing he saw. His final thoughts were certainly of no glory, he heard no songs of Valkyries over the ringing in his ears, and the pains of his body were not taken from him. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, considering how his luck had turned over these past weeks, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

* * *

“Bind them.” Milena ordered as soon as the cry died in her throat. They didn’t submit easily, but one by one her Shield Maidens began to bind wrists, brawling with the men to secure them to beams and oar stations. Curses, growls, snarls that rumbled in their throats went ignored, and Magnhildr knocked her fair share of them unconscious just to shut them up. If only they knew the mercy she showed them, ordering her warriors to only kill if necessary, and if one of their sisters fell, to ensure one of the invading Jarl’s brothers fell too. 

Fear flashed only briefly in their eyes when she approached them, and Milena sauntered toward the largest of his crew. He’d tried to kill her and Mag during their battle, a hulking and powerful man with thick, wild brown hair and hard brown eyes that she stared into with a deadly calm. Two blonde men were tied up beside him, one with cropped hair and a youthful face, the other with long copper curls and biting green eyes. The dark haired man struggled and spat at her as she kneeled down to his level in front of him and gazed into his hostile face with a blank expression. 

“You will not survive this you foul mare!” He growled, a deep voice that suggested power and rage, strong enough to rival Thor’s. These men were much taller, larger than anyone of her realm, far more savage and beautiful, each one more furious than the next. Milena supposed she gave them a reason for their fury but felt no remorse. These idiot men asked for it and received more mercy than they deserved.

“I already have. I have an agreement with my women that if your men do not comply with my warriors that I will unleash a sound to ensure none of us ever hear a peep again.” She watched the steady bob of his throat when he swallowed, darkened brown eyes seeming to study the sincerity in her face as she so unflinchingly stared back. Daringly, Milena leaned forward until their noses almost touched, glare meeting glare. “They will sound the war horn and it will be the last thing you ever hear.”

"Why would your Maidens agree to be deafened if WE don't comply?" Milena quirked her lips seductively and ran a finger along the bearded edge of the man's jaw, watching his brown eyes widen some with the motion. 

"Loyalty my Brother. My Maidens will do far more for me than sacrifice their hearing for a fleet, and hostages as powerful and wealthy as your Jarl. I would see to it if it protects my people from whatever harm you seek to cause us, it would bring us great honor." She raised a brow and caught his wandering eyes again, noting he was checking on his Chieftain who Magnhildr had bound with rope up toward the bow of the ship. "I won't harm you. Not until I negotiate payment for your tresspasses with your Jarl and make sure you stay far, far away from my shores." 

"What is your price?" She laughed then, glancing amusedly up at Mag in her approach before addressing the larger man and two brooding blonde men tied up at his side. 

"Your fleet for starters. I will take a fourth of your men for slaves and depending on how gracious your Jarl is, a third of his wealth. The rest of you will be free to run back North with tails between your legs. A poor replacement for anatomy men often wear proudly, but I'm certain when I'm through with you, pride might be a distant memory."

"You aren't seriously going to cut off our cocks...." An exceedingly gorgeous man, golden hair cropped and wild peered at her nervously if not with some appreciation. Her lips quirked upward, shifting to address him while Mag stood in silent amusement beside her. The larger man she addressed first was too occupied glaring at her to pay much mind to threats regarding his nether region. 

"I'm not opposed to the punishment, though I admit I didn't quite have that in mind." His blue eyes widened and Milena stood to regard her fellow Warrior. "Mag, keep guard over these three. I want to be present when their Jarl wakes. I'll have a raven sent to Ragna, and spread word to the other ships. We'll relocate the fourth of their men I require to our fleet, including these men to my ship once I speak to the Jarl. We'll act accordingly depending on his decisions." She shot the three men a lingering, darkened glance, sauntering back toward the vessel's front toward a tall, dangerous looking man who had already regained consciousness at some point and glared silently into the space in front of him. 

“You should have killed me witch, I’ll usher you into Hel myself.” He muttered, shifting his glacial stare to meet her approach. The man was strange looking aside from his busted lip and blood from his brow drying on his face. Milena did find her mouth running a bit dryer in assessment of his broad form, his slightly darker skin and pale, clear blue eyes that were beautiful, but frigid. She likened him to some wintery white wolf, finding him much older than herself, but still far younger than she thought he’d be with his thick, stark silver hair, worn long and braided to the side leaving a thick fringe to frame the sharp features and angles of his face. 

Beauty aside, he was towering in his height, broad, and terrifying. Lips tensed in a menacing frown, piercing eyes framed by blood and black soot were narrowed to slits, hostile and unwavering. It was the first time Milena ever truly felt intimidated by a man, not that she’d show it in a million years. He seemed no less dangerous with this hands bound, silent and daring, a reminder to stay cautious of him. Regardless, in good faith Milena took a seemingly clean rag from their water supply and dampened it. The man growled and parted his lips to no doubt insult her further when she turned and kneeled in front of him, halting his words when she brought the rag to his face to clean some of the blood from his skin.

"Killing you wouldn't solve much. Not yet." The man winced a little when she dabbed at his lip, though his stare was unwavering in wait for an explanation. "You spit horrid words at me and it was you coming to harm MY lands, MY people, and you expect us to not retaliate? Accept my offer and go back to your King. I'll give you five ships." 

"How do you know my intentions?" 

"You brought a fleet of ten warships and five knarrs and an army to squash two colonies. Your intentions were clear. My people have a way of getting news." She tossed the rag to the side and met his eyes, convinced he was clean enough and paused, eyes slightly widened and breath caught. He glared at her yes, like he tried to strike her dead with his eyes, but perhaps that's what stole her breath, the intensity of him. "We don't have much time before those Sirens return. Are you going to listen to what I have to say?" 

"Make it quick." 

"In light of your intentions to cause harm to my people, we will take you and your men North back to your settlement. You will keep exactly five boats. Two of your Knarr and three warships. I will be taking back with me a fourth of your men for slaves, and a third of your wealth, King Killer." He laughed at this. Flat out burst into laughter that threw his head back against the side of the ship. Milena's face didn't waver, just stared until his antics calmed. 

"No." He replied simply, staring back at her with the faint traces of amusement now lost to something more stoic. 

"No?" Her brows raised, disbelieving any man would dare turn down her offer. In exchange for their lives, she was offering what she saw as a fair price. 

"Here is what will happen...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" 

"I didn't offer it." She frowned, eyeing him when he shrugged. Did he not understand that his hands were literally, and metaphorically tied?

"Fair enough." He continued, gazing back at her with danger in his eye none too fitting for a man bound in rope. "My men and I will join you on your ship, as I heard you discussing with my comrade. You will take us to your Jarl for negotiations and I will not raid your land but seek an agreement with it. Leader to leader we can come to some form of common interest, or your Chieftain will have my fleet and crew already in her possession and this scenario sways in your favor anyway. But you will _ not  _ be taking my ships." 

Milena thought on it, raising her eyes to the brisk morning to gauge her intuitions. She'd have to send a raven and gain permission from Sefi to bring a foreign tribe to their land kept so well hidden until now lest it anger Older Gods. He had a point, if she brought the Northern Jarl to Sefi she'd surely put him on trial for crimes against her people. But the risk was high, and she would have to keep them well monitored with limbs bound. More time spelled more room for error. 

"I will send for permission to allow you passage into our home. Know that I will be taking your weapons, you will remain well tied, and we won't be taking our eyes off of you. Permission will take time, we'll head toward a halfway point to rest and regroup. I could use a trip to the hot springs anyway." 

"And if your Jarl refuses?"

"Well that's up to you. Either bend to my terms or I will hang your head from your own ship and sail it North to claim your seat." 

"You're Freyja's child, aren't you?" The smirk on his lips grew, he leaned forward into her as much as his ties would allow. Staring back defiantly she nodded, "Thought so. Go on, send for your permissions and I will consider your offer in the meantime." 

"Send orders to your men that they are to obey us or die shamefully." 

"You issue a lot of commands for a Shield Maiden. Just know that if you injure a hair on them I will see it as an act of war against your Jarl and come what may, I will act accordingly." 

"Says the man tied to his own ship. Fine, but you should know my voice holds sway over more than Sirens, I can be very persuasive. Regardless, you have my word on Freyja's oath. Order your men and I will begin relocations." She stood then, a roll of her eyes at his audacity. Milena ordered his men to be moved to her ship with a wave of her hand, Mag helping the Silver Jarl to his feet to address the fleet, knife held to his throat while Milena sent the raven she borrowed from Ragna with their situation and where they would be located. 

It took hours before their guests stopped spitting curses and threats, calling them every foul name their Nordic tongue offered. Milena found her head pounding with it, ready to make good on her threat to deafen the lot of them if it would just shut them up. They fought her Shieldmaidens, and their bindings until weariness took hold. It had been a very long night for these men, most of them scared half out of their minds and the others so physically exhausted they became content with stubborn and contemplative silence. 

"Well, what do you make of them?" Magnhildr approached her side, arms crossed and bruised from her skirmish with the mountainous warrior. She was always all too ready to push her own limits and Milena didn't have the heart to tell her dearest Maiden that eventually he would have won. 

"I think I would react the same if strange foreigners came to steal my ships. Maybe worse. They are mulish idiots, but they can certainly put up a fight." Mag chuckled lightly, patting her hand to Milena's shoulder. 

"We are preparing food. I doubt there is a body on any of these ships that is not starved. Those men have seen a frightful, and long night." She nodded up at her friend, ravenously hungry herself.

"Mag, would you see to the large Northman? Of the three outside their Jarl, he seems to be the one they listen to." 

"His name is Nefir. Offered it to me out of respect I think. Or he smelled the fish and is desperate for a meal. I'll see to him." Milena nodded her thanks, turning her eyes toward the waters to ensure the rabid water spirits would stay away while they regrouped and settled in to move. 

Breakfast was long forgotten by the time Milena got everything in place. His men hadn’t lost their fight, and no promise of food was going to ease their hot iron tempers. The Sun was glaring early noon at them by the time they distributed food among the vast fleet, now mingled with his clan and hers. Tiredly, she prepared enough food for two and plopped down on the deck near the ship’s bow with hopes to entice her silver haired prisoner with a bit of dried herring and pear.

"You can't be serious." He sneered with offense when she offered a piece of sliced pear, lifting her brow as she extended it toward his lips. 

"I am very serious. You have to eat and there is no way I'm untying your hands. Your men seem to be enjoying the attention, now that they’ve stopped trying to kill us." 

"After weeks on a ship with no women in sight, I think they were starting to enjoy it when the goat glanced at them a certain way." She couldn't help a small laugh at his otherwise dry explanation, offering the slice of pear again that he declined with a turn of his head. 

"Stubborn man. Prisoner or not you need to keep up your strength. If I bring you water will you drink?" He frowned, clearly about to protest before she placed a cup to his lips. Placated when he accepted with a roll of his eyes. 

"I have a lot of men... how are you going to handle it when one of us needs to piss?" Milena deadpanned and took a long drink of water from the same cup. 

"We tend to handle your equipment better than you know how to on a good day, what makes you think we're afraid of that? Another thing for your men to look forward to I suppose, they might even be thanking you by the time we reach our destination." Had his hands been free she thought he might have buried his face in them, resigned to issuing a hard and disbelieving stare, he shook his head.

"You are NOT serious. I think I'd rather piss myself." 

"Suit yourself." Offering a nonchalant shrug she took a bite of the pear slice she'd offered him earlier and extended the cup of water again as an insult to injury. "Drink up!"

They set sail shortly after, knowing Atla would raise their barrier of fog once more after a short period, so Milena pushed their now doubled fleet forward. The Northern Jarl grew silent and brooding, no doubt trying to devise some means of escape and take over. She felt almost guilty the way she'd find herself watching his stoic contemplations, the flare of something behind his pale eyes while he quietly mulled through his thoughts. Her cheeky attempt to get a rise from him had not only failed, but set him into some form of quiet protest because he would not speak, refused food, and only accepted the smallest sips of water when it was clear he was desperate. 

He was clearly older than her, but far younger than she imagined based on rumors of his silver hair and reckless brutality. Killed a King to elect his own, stormed Western shores earning untold wealth and honor, stole a Western ship as well as one of their natives, and occupied his reign over a great deal of the Northern lands. For a man not yet in his thirtieth year, he held the impressive resume of a well accomplished Northman. She knew nothing of this man other than his accomplishments and reputations, and he would know nothing of her outside of stories that most men chalked up to merely legend.

The first day after, the waters were calm and the Sun was kind. Milena woke early, as she always did by the grace of cryptic dreams of blood and cradles, to find her captive Jarl awake and staring out onto the horizon. He hadn't paid her any mind since their agreement and his stubborn refusal of any hospitality, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try. She approached again, a cup of water and some porridge made with goat milk, fruit, and honey. His eyes barely shifted from the waves beyond her boat, but his brow quirked a bit with barely discernible acknowledgment. 

"The binds were merely a formality of your violence. Had you agreed, or even listened to what I had to say you wouldn't be in this predicament." His eyes shifted to hers, a sharp motion that took her off guard with their unique true shade of icy light blue. He said nothing, something told her he wasn't a man who needed to speak often, the way he told her with only a look that she was unwelcome in his presence. Regardless, she offered him a bite of probably the most appetizing dish she could put together with limited resources. "I understand you are angry, but you need to keep your strength." 

His eyes narrowed, face turned away from her once more in favor of the scenery again. Milena hadn't ever been a patient woman, ready to dump the porridge over his head and let him stew in it for the remainder of their voyage but refrained with a deep breath and clenched eyes. He was looking at her when they opened again, his frigid stare crashed with hers intensely and words became moot.

There was no intent or emotion in his eyes, perhaps a silent challenge posed or intimidation tactic the way they slowly danced between hers. His silver hair looked thick, braided back to one side to show off an impressive scar that parted the hairs rather strategically through one brow. His other eye was almost covered by the silver fringe that looked thick and luminescent in the light of dawn, all stark against deeper sunkissed skin. Warily, she offered him a bite of porridge and fruit again, one he took slowly, and proceeded to spit back into her face. 

"YOU BASTARD!" She stood abruptly, probably waking anyone still sleeping in their seal skin covers. "I told you not to test me..." Her growl went ignored, the Jarl simply turning away again completely unthreatened and unphased while bits of fruit and oats slipped slowly down her cheek. Barks of laughter rang out from his crewmen, and thankfully Mag was there to pull the bowl from her shaking fingers before she could throw it at him. 

"Milena, your kindness is wasted on brutish men here, and at home." She spun to face her friend, shaking her shoulders free of her understanding grasp. 

"Do not mistake this for kindness Mag. I do what I must to please the Gods and keep my shame from spoiling my reputation. I will not let my pride be damaged by these barbaric wretches at home, let alone on my own ship!" With that, she turned and kicked the Jarl hard in the ribs. His pained grunt was the most he'd spoken since the day prior. "How is THAT for kindness?" 

The next day, one of his men, the one with short cropped hair somehow managed to untie his ropes, almost also releasing the larger Northman beside him. Magnhildr was able to stop them, placing the point of her spear at his jugular while he continued to fight his bonds as they were re-tied. 

“Jǫðurr, enough.” The command came sharply from the Jarl out of nowhere, and Milena simply took some relief from learning another of their names. The thundering sound of his voice seemed to demand the attention of the other three men, eyes angry and lips tensed to silence when they regarded their Chieftain. “Do not complicate this further for us. Clearly we have no choice but to comply until we receive news. Stay patient men.” 

"We do not want to cause you harm." Mag reassured, glancing at the Jarl and the three men she guarded. "Regardless of what HE might think, we are favored by the same Gods. Self-defense hardly makes us villains." 

"What is your name?" The largest of them spoke, brown eyes drifting up to Mag's towering form. Her expression softened, and she leaned on her spear like a walking stick. Milena knew her friend could be the one to break the tension. Her kindness, a motherly patience about her, not to mention her ability to make any of their salted and dry rations taste like a feast, made her a powerful diplomat when needed. "You’ve learned my name, but I am a blacksmith back home, and I have a daughter I would very much like to see again. You'll get no trouble from me." 

"Weakling." The man with long hair, tied messily back in a low curly tail glared at Nefir with the greenest eyes Milena had ever seen. 

"Shut up Zephyr. We hold to different loyalties than your Western world in case you forgot." The much broader man shot back with a touch of bite to his tone that did little to quench the poison in Zephyr’s glare.

"I'm called Magnhildr, but please, Mag is fine." Both quarreling men paused to look at her, awed by the gentle smile on her lips after they'd both witnessed her wrath only days prior. Milena admired Mag, more powerful than even herself in body and spirit. Envied that she could have been married with many Sons, though she threw her legacy away in favor of the shield. Her only suitor mysteriously died once her own parents were killed at sea, no longer able to arrange her marriage. It was then she’d decided to create her own legacy, and build her home by her own terms. 

"Well. I tried." Jǫðurr shrugged off his failed attempt to escape and gave a shit eating grin while he relaxed against the rail he was bound to. "That is Zephyr, English asshole and best damn navigator at sea. I'm Jǫðurr, boatsmith and farmer at your service.... or I would be if you'd fucking let us free." 

"Not happening." Milena interrupted, shifting weight on her feet, happy to ignore their Jarl behind her while she glowered at the three men Magnhildr seemed content to befriend. "At least not until I know you are not going to gut us in our sleep." 

"Well my Jarl wishes for me to comply, and seeing as you've taken my knives and arrows, I only have one thing left to prick you with, fair maiden. Happy to oblige if it brings peace to the situation." Nefir groaned at his side, brown eyes raised skyward and Mag seemed to think his petty advances were hilarious, stifling her laughter into her palm. Milena's lips quirked in a half genuine smirk at Jǫðurr's boldness, and she kneeled in front of him to be at eye level. 

"Do not ask for what you cannot handle, because I assure you it takes more than mindless pricking to please a daughter of Freyja." His smirk grew more devious and Jǫðurr leaned forward until she felt his breath against her lips. 

"The twins smile upon us both it seems. By Freyr's will you have my respect lady, I'll give you no trouble you do not want." Milena pushed him back against the siding of the ship with amusement on her lips. 

"I like you Jǫðurr. Do not try to escape again." When she stood to fetch some water, she locked eyes with the Jarl who'd watched the whole display in apparent distaste that pleased her beyond reason. 

He remained silent, not eating, and scarcely drinking water for another day. It appeared as though he didn't sleep, and if he did it was short intervals during times she did not notice. The weariness of it began to show in his pale eyes and Milena began wondering if he did this on purpose. His men had become tolerable, interested in her band of female warriors to say the least.

Storytelling filled their nights thanks to Nefir who had become an expert apparently from nights spent trying to get his daughter to sleep. It was welcoming, warming their chilly nights over Mag's cooking and otherwise pleasant company despite their complaints about their bindings. Milena wasn't a heartless woman, quite the opposite, so despite his icy hatred she found herself peeking behind her toward the darkened hull at the Jarl's huddled form. She wondered what he thought about with his pale eyes, still rimmed with decorative soot, smudged and messy from long wear, locked onto the stars above them in thought. She wondered what his name was, and why he remained so silent and stubborn.

"Don't mind our Jarl. He is a complicated man." Jǫðurr had taken to her, she found they were similar in some ways, though he was clearly a much freer spirit than herself. It was ambitious of course for her to befriend any of these men she may very well have to kill, keeping her distance while attempting to be kind. "Great success doesn't come without its price, he has paid his share." 

* * *

The morning of the following day Kjaran peeled his eyes open and coughed a bit from a dehydrated throat. It was still dark when Milena approached him, not with an offering of food like normal but a bowl of water and a rag. She dressed simply in leather trousers, fitted to shapely legs and a simple leather shirt tied up the front with a darker leather chord that sat lower on her chest and emphasized a beauty he hadn't noticed from a woman in far too long. She kneeled in front of him, a hard wariness in her expression as she twisted the excess water from the cloth and brought it to his face.

"I was going to ask you why you didn't keep a beard like most Northmen." Pausing, Kjaran watched her eyes drift boldly over his face while she assessed the scruff growing along his jaw. Her small nose scrunched distastefully, lips quirking in an almost friendly fashion as she resumed cleaning sweat, dried blood, and dirt from his skin. "I understand now why you don't. It doesn't suit you." 

"If you think there is a chance in Hel I'll let you anywhere near my face to shave, guess again." He ground out, causing an impatient roll of her eyes while she concentrated on her work. Her full lips turned up naturally at the edges in a permanently alluring manner, even when she scowled. He found Milena was persistent if nothing else, still being somewhat kind after so many days of his cantankerous demeanor. Perhaps it was the refreshing feel of the cool rag against his skin as she ran it over his neck and the bit of his chest she could reach, or the appealing way she chewed on her bottom lip while she did so.

"I wish you would show a little trust. We are at a standstill until my Chieftain sends news, I wouldn't just slit your throat. There is no honor in it for me either." She began cleaning his bound hands, being gentle when she noticed the angry burn marks on his wrists where he'd tried to get free himself. Milena laughed a little in her throat and shook her head as though she were realizing something too slowly. "I get it...I'd act the same if someone came out of nowhere, took my ships and held me hostage. To be fair you attacked me first." 

"Understanding of my position or not, that doesn't mean I'm going to let you near me with a blade." 

"Wise decision Jarl, this one's a clumsy one outside of battle." He fought a smile when Milena's eyes went wide at Magnhildr's snide comment. The tall maiden only came by to drop off some water, bread and fruit for breakfast, gone as soon as she came with a mischievous wink to feed the rest of the crew. 

"Add that to the many reasons you won't be coming near me with a blade." For a moment, it seemed like Milena might shove the dampened cloth into his mouth but refrained. Instead her fingers gruffly took his chin and turned his head so she could wash what she could of the back of his neck. He swallowed, noting how close she'd become. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle as they pulled the length of his hair to the side to clean the dirt from his skin.

"I'll see what we have for those burns." He turned his head to look at her, finding wide indigo eyes that appeared caught off guard by the abrupt movement. 

"Or you could just let me go. I don't know what you think my men and I would do without weapons. We're vastly outnumbered now." This close he could appreciate that she really was rather beautiful. Not in a traditional sense most women he'd encountered were, there was nothing demure about this woman yet she seemed to embody a sensual danger that called to him. 

"I know enough Northmen to know that you need no weapons to kill. You'd rip our throats out with your teeth if you needed, and wouldn't give it a second thought." The rag was set aside, and she lifted a cup of water toward his lips as an offering. "That being said, drink and eat something and maybe I'll consider trusting you a bit more." 

"And if I don't?" He couldn't deny his thirst, or that his hunger among other things, kept him awake at night. 

"Well, I might just shove it down your throat at this point. You're growing weaker and I can't have a weak man on my ship." 

"Hmm..." He took a drink from the offered cup, staring her hard in the eyes, "I'd think you'd rather your hostage remain weak than stay strong." 

"As you said Jarl, there is no honor in falling to a little girl." Kjaran chuckled at this, complying when she offered him a berry, her lips quirking in an amused manner. He became ravenous, but tried to reign his hunger before he made himself sick. Or worse. 

"Fair enough."


	3. Captivity

They were too far from shore to anchor for the night, so Milena prepared an awning over half the ship with one of her spare sails for sleeping while they continued to row forward in a slower time with half the oarsmen and only the stars above to guide them. Not that she could sleep. Her heart was a battleground of emotion, rampant with a dishonest marriage and divorce, her duties, and now having to contend with this Jarl and his counteroffers to her demands. She told herself Sefi was a bit too merciful in some regards, taking some comfort that no decision would be made without Ragna’s much less forgiving council. It did nothing to keep her from wondering whose bed Asger warmed that night, or if their own marriage bed had become soiled by his infidelity.

After staring at the awning above her for far too long, teeth clenched and muscles tensed, Milena forced her eyes closed in an attempt to find some form of rest. She focused on the rhythmic sound of oars slicing through the gentle waves that rocked her ship like a mother might rock her infant. Her brows furrowed at the thought and focused more on the lapping of the water surrounding them and the warmth of the slumbering bodies of her sisters in arms around her, but her thoughts were too loud and too troubling. Milena breathed a heavy, defeated sigh between her lips, eyes fluttering open in frustration. If the loud snoring of the men currently tied to one of the masts couldn’t drown out her errant thoughts, then nothing would. 

Milena carefully climbed over the sleeping bodies of her sisters, meeting the chilled air with a calming breath, appreciating the vast canopy of stars and the pale filtered light of a pale, luminous, moon. A refreshing breeze caressed what skin was bared and ran gentle fingers through the bit of her hair she wore down to sleep. With a fond smile, she tiptoed her way toward the men, all bundled together in seal skins and furs for warmth. They were big men that appeared so boyish during these hours where their eyes could hold no sadness, and battle weariness was forgotten under the veil of deep, and rather loud slumber. Her smile warmed at their sleeping faces, the way Jǫðurr and Zephyr both huddled close to Nefir for added warmth or comfort. She thought she might even like these men given their spirits, and shifted one of the furs to better cover Jǫðurr like a Mother concerned for one of her own.

A small laugh hummed in her throat, and Milena turned to head toward the front of her ship for some water with hopes she might calm her warring mind and heart enough to sleep. The back of her neck tensed, hair standing on end as she walked between weary rowers with the sensation of being watched. Milena shifted her eyes only slightly to meet the icy glare of the nameless Jarl himself, his eyes following her toward the barrels of drinking water and instead of one cup, she filled two.

Milena approached him slowly, her eyes unwavering from the very heavy intimidation of his very pale blue ones, refusing to be affected by their coldness. They almost looked clear against his deeper skin, hair silvered like the moonlight itself. She almost thought to laugh at the stony frown on his face and sat carefully on the storage chest in front of him. 

“I was only checking on them to make sure that they are warm enough. I have no intention of harming them.” She assured in a low voice as not to wake anyone, extending her cup to him, close enough that he could drink if he wanted. Silently, the Jarl leaned forward for a small drink and leaned himself back against the side of the bow. “Can’t sleep either, can you?” 

“Have you ever tried to sleep with your hands bound in such a manner? After some time the feeling leaves your hands and your muscles ache.” 

“They don’t seem to have much trouble.” Milena mused as a loud snore sawed itself from Nefir’s throat. 

“Sleep is a distant thought when you are bound to an enemy ship. You could kill them rather easily and there would be nothing I could do to stop you.” His voice was softer for once, likely with the same intent of not waking anyone but it was a refreshing change from the harsher tones he normally used. 

“You don’t strike me as a sentimental man, or one to attach himself to others, but something tells me you would die to save any one of them if you could.” Milena smiled softly and lifted her face to the stars in understanding. She had no blood family left to speak for her, yet she still had a family she would gladly forfeit her life for without a thought. She thought a moment, that it was a selfish, dishonorable thing that she did not feel that way about her own husband. 

“Thoughtlessly, I would. I would die for any of them, as they would die for me. They are as invaluable to me in their skills as they are in brotherhood.” The man watched her, almost knowingly as she took a long drink from the cup. Milena offered him more water, which was declined, respectfully for once. 

“I still don’t know your name Jarl, but I have heard the stories and rumors of you. Surely you have learned mine by now, it’s only fair that I know yours. Unless you prefer to be called King Killer.” 

He watched her, rather attentively as she slipped down off the chest she sat on, pulling an extra fur from its surface to drape around his broad shoulders. In doing so, it brought him into rather intimate proximity, allowing her to better see the savage scar that marred one brow, the fine sculpt of his face, falling arrested to the intensity of the icy tones in his stare. 

“Kjaran.” He replied simply, quietly as his eyes gently roved over her face as well. He’d leaned in just slightly to help her situate the fur around him, but his chest brushed hers and Milena could barely pull herself away when she felt his breath against her lips. She tugged the fur around him to ensure it would keep him warm enough, and sat beside at his side on the deck with a clear of her throat, resting her back against the shallow ledge.

“Kjaran.” She repeated quietly, peering at him over the lip of her cup when she went for a drink to quench a dryness that had taken over her throat, unsure when she allowed herself to be so drawn in by him. “We can move you closer to your men if you’d prefer. Solitude can be a dangerous vice after too long.” 

He continued to study her with minute admiration in his pale gaze that unsettled her because she found herself unable to look away. Milena tried to swallow all of the things that could leave her shunned, but the dry knot wouldn’t be consumed, threatening to choke her with their truths. Somehow, in some absent moment, she decided he was quite beautiful. The moonlight suited this man all in silver when his face wasn’t so brooding or twisted in some form of fearsome malice. He and his men were giants in all aspects in comparison to the men in her clan. Perhaps a symptom of their female dominated society where their men were required to be strong, but more suited for farming and trade than raiding and providing protection. These men were savage and brutal, with the strength of the Gods in their limbs. 

Kjaran seemed to swallow dryly before the moment passed and he responded. “I am not alone now.” 

“I’m unwelcome company, you’ve made that quite clear. I’m sure you’d rather be in the company of your kindred.” His eyes hadn’t lingered, still cold, hard and piercing with a new sort of appreciating quality that shouldn’t have stirred such intrigue in her. Milena told herself that he was just another woman starved man at sea, and yet there was no primal hunger inside the admiration of his calculating gaze. 

“As you can see they are currently rather noisy company, not suited for sleeping. Nothing new, of course, they are just as loud awake as they are asleep.” She stifled a laugh, glancing toward the side of the ship where Nefir slept with his head back, mouth wide open, snoring loudly. Jǫðurr was no better, nearly waking Zephyr with a loud snort. “Besides, I live with them and they accompany me for months on end during raids. The quiet has been welcome. I’ve had time to think.” The amusement on Milena’s face fell with a rather blatant shift of his eyes upon her. “I can think of worse company as well.” 

“Plotting your escape?” Milena tilted her head, reaching once more to let him have a drink with a peace giving smile, ignoring the intent of his subtly placed comments. Pleased that regardless of the strange tension in the air, he was at least being civil. 

Kjaran took a careful sip, and slowly shook his head. “No. I seek wisdom from the Gods about this path I am on.” 

“You might do better to listen to your wife. Surely she would have discouraged her husband’s idiot notions to sail into territories with such bloodsoaked reputations. Where stories of these places, both beautiful and horrible, are real. A husband should be the anchor for his family, earn land and prosperity, not reckless abandon to seek an early grave. Your fathers before you would want you to lead many sons to honor so they could continue to speak their names in praise. And yours as well. Surely your wife would have spoken out against such foolish bravery.” Milena clamped her lips shut as she’d gotten caught up in her own passion, realizing too late that they’d been sharing water from the same cup as the full cup meant for him remained abandoned on the storage chest in front of them. 

“The Gods have hopefully given my now ex-wife all she deserves by now. The horrid wretch of a woman can enjoy the frozen nothingness of Helheim until Ragnarok.” Kjaran paused as if to calm a certain rage within him, likely noticing her wide eyed stare at his use of rather colorful words, and cleared his throat. “It’s a long story, but I suppose I’ll only say that I have no such wife to advise me of my foolish errands.” 

Something sorrowful and almost angry tugged at his features. Milena figured it was not her place to ask, though something about the beautiful shift of his face made her want to know all the more. But she refrained from becoming too intimate and asking too much, fixing her posture to place some form of distance between them.

“You should try and rest. May I call you Kjaran?” 

“If you like.” He spoke calmly, distant as though he were still reeling from some memory. 

“Well Kjaran,” His eyes snapped back to hers at the sound of his name and Milena offered a more genuine smile. “If I bring you breakfast in the morning, you’re not going to spit it in my face again, are you?” Her brow raised in wait for a response, thinking maybe he smiled back at her through the darkness. 

“Only if you bring me porridge again. I was rather sorry for spitting it out, it’s far better than fruit and dry bread.” 

“Oh is that all you’re sorry for? Not for spitting it at me like a mulish ass?” 

“No… That was for stealing my ships.” He mused back, shifting under the fur she’d draped over him in an attempt to get comfortable. “It was the least I could do in the moment to repay you. I’d run out of insults.” 

“Did I not also save your life? I’ve been perfectly kind, and hospitable-” 

“You do think rather highly of yourself.” He interrupted as her voice had begun to grow louder with irritation. Milena balked at him a moment, hopping to her feet with a bitter, glaring exchange of eyes. She supposed Kjaran had gone a suspiciously long time without antagonizing her, even if he seemed so pleased with himself while doing so. 

“Goodnight Jarl.” She hissed between her teeth, emptying the still full cup of water back into the drinking supply before heading back to the safe haven of the awning, too angry to sleep.

The morning did not find her in a better disposition of course, little sleep and a lot of rage was enough to see that her ability to rest was limited to disruptive shuffling and frustrating dreams, no doubt keeping others sleeping near her awake as well. She’d made Kjaran his breakfast alright, but refused to serve it to him let alone look at him, she gave that task to one of the other younger Maidens who seemed all too eager to deliver the Jarl his meal. She stood at the front of the ship, hands resting on the upward curve of the bow while she gazed absently at the waters ahead, trying to forget about the man bound just behind her. 

“Hey Millie, you feeling alright?” Mag appeared at her side, a cup of goat milk in hand and peering down at her with concern in her motherly stare. Milena stared at the horizon; there would be nothing but open sea between them and the island harboring their halfway point while they waited for Sefi’s word. 

“We should head for land tonight. If we push the rowers, we should be able to make it to a beach just south of here. There will be plenty of hunting, freshwater streams for bathing, and alcoves of trees where we can hide our tents for the night.” She accepted the cup of milk and took a slow drink, ignoring Mag’s maternal expression and Kjaran’s observant stare. “I’m fine, Mag, just tired. As are the others. Supplies are low and we could all benefit from a good night’s rest and a decent meal.” 

“I can’t argue that, but I know you haven’t been sleeping.” She scolded with a tensed frown, sighing when Milena didn’t respond. “I’ll follow the shore south then. I know that stop well.” 

“Thank you.” Milena gestured with the cup of goat milk to thank the much taller warrior and drank more of the slightly sweet milk to appease her friend. “I’ll try and rest more before we arrive so I can help with the hunt.” 

“Oh no you don’t,” Mag scolded and plucked the cup from her hand, “Someone needs to make arrangements for these men and make sure I’m being set up with a proper fire if you plan on a half decent meal. I’ll see to the hunting and cooking. Now go rest and I’ll wake you when we’re close. You’re no good to anyone if you fall dead from exhaustion.” 

“I’m in no such danger and you know it.” Milena smiled but rolled her eyes, daring a glance at Kjaran who unnervingly watched the exchange without so much as blinking. She swallowed and stepped around Mag to find a vacant place to lie down. “I’ll rest for a few moments but that’s all.” 

As she thought, they dropped anchor at the beach early enough in the evening that the sun was still bright and game for the hunt would be an easier catch. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, groggily waking thanks to the cup of water Mag splashed on her face with that wide, toothy grin she gave when she knew she was right about something. Milena considered pushing her overboard but decided against it since Mag would likely just pull her down too. Her breath was taken by the beautiful shoreline, serene and lined with rocky sand and lush green trees whispering in the ocean air. She suddenly felt rejuvenated enough that even removing Kjaran’s bound hands from her ship wasn’t such a dreaded task. Milena was always ready for him to overpower her by keeping her knife politely poking at him between two of his ribs, particularly out of reach of his bound hands. 

“If I was going to hurt you, I would have by now.” 

She glanced up at him and scowled. “You think I’m simpleminded enough to listen to a thing you say?” 

“I got what I want. I’m a patient man, I’ll wait for your Jarl’s decision.” Kjaran just barely winced when she adjusted his ropes against the angry burns on his wrists, his voice a steady calm that she knew better than to trust. 

“I won’t repeat myself.” Milena ushered him forward as Mag humorously escorted the other three of his men to shore while the rest of their crews began lugging and organizing their supplies onto the beach for inventory. .

“We could help, you know.” Zephyr offered, as Mag began dragging him from the ship like a scolded child. Others were splitting into teams for hunting, foraging, fishing, and sorting the new additions to their fleet and the goods they harbored while others began lugging the smaller ships inland to hide them . 

“You can’t do shit with your hands tied like that, and don’t think we’ll be removing those binds.” Mag yanked him forward, smacking him upside the head when he thought it was wise to mock her. Milena laughed at the scene like a bickering brother and sister, it would have been fitting if they weren’t being lead by the points of swords and spears. Nefir and Jǫðurr followed dutifully behind, flanked by Kjaran and herself.

“Is there any point to pleading our case now? We’ve been at sea for nearly a week.” 

She peeked up at the roughed up Jarl, in dire need of a shave, hair matted and tangled with ocean air and sea salt, and his wrists were angry with rope burn from struggling against the rough twine. Milena bit her lip and considered her options because his men weren’t better for wear. The past nights had become ritualistic when she couldn’t sleep, spending a small bit of time with Kjaran to earn an inch of trust, not that they’d gotten very far. 

“I could let you free to clean up a bit. But you would remain well guarded.” He rolled his eyes, but the objection she suspected did not come. “And you will see to it that none of your men do anything stupid or we will not hesitate.” 

“Fine. I’d sacrifice Jǫðurr for a bath at this point.” He grumbled, justifiably cranky and sore. He kept flexing his fingers as the blood rushed back into his hands, his back shifting uncomfortably. 

“Well, there is a creek nearby to clean up. It’s not the hot springs at our safe point, but it should suffice. The water is cool and clean, and I have a knife and mirror for you to shave later. They will keep their distance but I will have my archers keeping close watch over you.” Milena tore her eyes away from him, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. “I will also look for some herbs for your wrists.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather keep an eye on us yourself? We can be quite resourceful you know.” 

“Is it that you are resourceful, or is there something you want me to see Kjaran?” Milena stared daringly into his face, quirking her lips in a manner that had his pale eyes drifting to the canopy of trees above the forest just off the beach. She giggled, a bit girlishly, and nudged his arm with her shoulder, finding herself in awe at just how tall he was. “I do have a husband, it’s nothing I haven’t seen.” 

“Strange, you hadn’t mentioned a husband until now. I assumed but-” 

“Perhaps because there is nothing to tell.” Milena frowned, sorry she’d said anything and walked a bit faster, forcing Kjaran to quicken his pace as well. She kept her eyes hard and forward, more frustrated that he ruined her antics by being invasive. “I’ll ask the archers to escort you to the stream and release you.”

“For a married woman, you’re not quick to honor your husband.” Unable to bear the anger that flared quickly at his rather loose observation, she turned on her heel abruptly to respond through gritted teeth. 

“You will learn your place with me quickly Jarl, I didn’t inquire about your wife but I can only assume that you were too busy fucking your Thralls and disgracing her, maybe you beat her or did not give her children-” 

“You may ask my son if you ever grace any of Valhalla’s great halls.” 

Her voice died in her throat. Milena was certain she’d stopped breathing at some point under his frigid, unwavering glare. Even the stern, too calm tone of his voice sounded deadlier than when he’d spouted insults and threatened to kill her himself. She felt smaller than she’d ever felt, simply turning away with a clear of her throat, motioning toward one of her archers. She muttered her commands to lead them to the stream to wash with a kill on sight order should they try anything foolish. She frowned, feeling sorry that she didn’t inquire further about his son but that familiar violent tension had returned between them, and Milena knew it wasn’t her place. 

* * *

Kjaran was quiet, complacent even when the rather broad nameless woman cut him free. His wrists looked as angry as he felt, and he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't think of about ten different scenarios where he and his men escaped this captivity, took a ship and sailed straight back to Erland. Jǫðurr and Nefir were eagerly throwing their clothes off, uncaring about the eyes on them they carried on like little boys. Zephyr was as always a bit reserved, neatly placing his clothing on the bank and trying to find the most private area he could without the risk of being shot. 

He blew through his lips, palming the lye soap Milena placed so flirtatiously in his pocket for him and joined his men who splashed and made all sorts of noise in attempts to lift their own spirits. If his hands hadn't been tied the entire trip, he might have enjoyed her company. During the day she navigated herself, and sang with the most beautiful of voices to lift the spirits of her girls. She was strong, entirely too impatient, quick to anger, spitting hateful words when provoked, she was so very much like himself in that regard. At night she was solemn, seemed lonely and troubled and Milena was very good at keeping him much farther than arms length during their insomnia induced visits. 

Kjaran wasn't sure why he was so affected by her outburst. Perhaps she was right to be angry with him, it wasn't his place to pry but it certainly wasn't hers to accuse him of infidelity or impotence without knowing his story. He supposed he should be grateful she didn't toss him in a tent, still bound and cut off from this adventure through thick forest to bathe and freshen up. For everything that had happened, these Shield Maidens were hospitable, fed them, gave them water, spoke to them as equals even though they were all dead set that Kjaran had set out to disrupt their world. And he had, hadn't he? Planned to raid and pillage them, take their land for his own...Milena put a rather quick halt to those plans, and Mag was never too far from her side. 

"Quit playing with your cock and pass the soap." Kjaran was brought from his reverie by a cold, but refreshing splash of water Jǫðurr had kicked at him, impatiently waiting his turn. He hadn't realized he stripped down, placing his clothes by Zephyr's and was simply staring down at the soap in his hand. Zephyr laughed, taking it from Kjaran's palm himself and began to wash.

"Perhaps it is you who should stop playing with your cock and get to washing. I'm sure they won't allow us much time. It's getting dark and we don't know these lands." Zephyr threw the lye soap over to Jǫðurr who struggled not to drop it. Nefir had made himself quite at home, finding a deeper portion of the creek he simply lay back to enjoy the light current of it. 

"Is it me or is this not so bad?" Nefir admitted, catching the soap tossed to him. He sat up, to wash, giving Kjaran a knowing grin that made his stomach sink. "Saved by a boat of, can I just say abnormally beautiful women, fed, and catered to....Milena is quite a woman herself, wouldn't you say so Kjaran?" 

"She is a potential enemy. In case you have forgotten she's taken Erland's ships, our ships, taken us hostage and could still potentially kill us." Kjaran grumbled, snatching his soap back from Nefir, frowning tensely. "And in case you also forgot we are on display for however many archers Milena has guarding us, so I suggest we bathe and dress quickly." 

"I don't care. Let them see." Jǫðurr kneeled down to rinse, reaching for the soap once more and lowered his voice. "I agree for once though. We should make a run for it." 

"You'd get two strides before one of those arrows sent you straight to Hel where you belong." Nefir mused in his booming voice, laughing and falling back against the current to rinse. 

"You're just having a good time because that Magnhildr lady seems to have taken a liking to you, _NEFI_." Zephyr commented, trying to rinse the salt from his long curls. 

"Yeah when she isn't threatening to gut him and skewer Nefi over the next fire." Jǫðurr snorted, dodging a pebble thrown from Nefir's tantrum over his earned nickname. If there hadn’t been the threat of several arrows pointed directly at them, he likely would have taken Jǫðurr and Zephyr both and lay them out in reminder of why they shouldn’t call him that. "Though Milena is as close to a Valkyrie than I've ever seen. Beauty shouldn't be wicked, but Freyja has made it so." 

"She is married." Kjaran muttered, unsure if he was offering the information or agreeing with the boatsmith in some self preserving way. There wasn't any denying her beauty, the feline way she moved, the haunting and deadly quality of her voice, and the fierceness of her skill with a shield and blade. 

"You're quiet, even for you." Nefir offered over a second round of washing, tossing the soap back to Kjaran. "And distant... it's been strange to see you so isolated on that ship. Surely there is reason they keep us apart." 

"I am her prisoner. She's taken responsibility for me, which means not letting me near my men to plot an escape." He winced as the soap hit the burn marks on his wrist, and stared hard into the water at his feet, wincing harder at his reflection. Kjaran really needed to shave.

"You should have had her guard you now. I am blessed by our Freyr, God of prosperity and fertile cock. I could bestow such peace and pleasure upon her that she-" 

"You'll need a bigger cock for that you fool, your lack of wife suggests perhaps Freyr doesn't favor you in more than prosperity. Also, Freyr is Freyja's brother, they would not be crowding in bed together it's an unwise match." Eyeing Kjaran, Zephyr smirked, taking the soap back. "Though if we're going to compare, our Jarl should have many wives at this point." 

"That's enough idiots. I'm not going to stand around comparing cocks and women like children when I must get a grasp on this situation." Kjaran began twisting excess water from his hair, stepping toward land to dry some and dress, take a piss without the embarrassment of help from some strange woman. Certainly not allowing the subject of his ex-wife, or lack of wives to become a common theme of conversation. He'd done well to keep silent about it these past years.

It wasn't long before one of the archers gathered them, robust woman with a keen eye and very fine bow. They were offered thinner clothing, less restricting fine linen from their own belongings which allowed Kjaran to rinse the leather he wore previously, and air out his furs. It unfortunately ended in more ropes around his wrists, bound with a sharpened arrow strung, and aimed at his throat. 

"Milena has asked me to escort you back to the beach for a feast. Mag caught a boar and there are plenty of fish, berries, and leeks." The woman explained, painfully tying his wrists without much care for the angry marks upon them. Kjaran noticed that the archers would not look them in the eyes for reasons he decided not to dwell on given their voyeuristic task. Younger and older women alike, all ornamented and savage as Melina, but never as beautiful. 

Surrounded, he and his men were lead by six arrow points back to the beach where it appeared that the shield maidens were all celebrating with is own men. A flurry of activity greeted them as women cooked, worked, and played games with members of his clan who prepared the feast and made arrangements for tents in the thick vegetation of the forest just off the beach. Some of them made sex games with the ropes that bound them, others remained free with their agreements to cooperate under strict fealty to Kjaran, or else Milena would make good on her threat to deafen them all with her strange and beautiful voice.

Above it all, her voice rang out over the sandy shore to the complimenting rhythm of drums typically meant for war. She and Mag danced around a tall fire as they sang, and for once Milena looked womanly. Her hair was only pulled half back and away from her face, still ornamental and intricately braided while the rest spilled long down her back in waves of pure gold. She wore a blue dress that hung lower on her chest with an orange pinafore that emphasized her shapely curves and flowed upon the wind from the sea. What he noticed most was that she smiled, beamed really, and it was as though the Sun weren't setting low on the horizon.

Kjaran was rendered breathless, only jarred forward when one of the Archers shoved him hard before he'd even realized he had stopped walking. 

"You alright?" Zephyr offered quietly, green eyes shifting around them at the seemingly carefree enjoyment of their people. 

"Fine." Kjaran muttered in quiet distraction, "Just weary I think." Zephyr nodded, pretending to accept the answer when it was clear by his expression he didn't believe his half hearted response.

Milena had enchanted him, of that he was certain as he mindlessly allowed the Archers to lead them to the bonfire she danced around so freely. Their eyes met as she moved, lips spouting song and smiles, and eyes lit with Loki's intentions. Kjaran was mesmerized, but the encounter was too brief and he could not hold her gaze for long. It had been years since he felt such an errant beating of his heart, a heavy thundering so out of rhythm it was as though it had gone to war with the English Regiment and sought to escape his chest. Milena didn't notice however, that like a dumbstruck fool he watched discreetly through the thick silver fringe around his eyes as she laughed, and carried on like a Maiden younger than she already was. 

It was a natural thing for a man to want what was not his to have, and normally men like him would merely pillage and take it. However Kjaran knew nothing about Milena. If she had a family, or where this strange woman so blessed with power came from. Only that she had a husband she would not tell tales of, and he thought the man must be foolish not to place pride in his wife, as a woman such as Milena no doubt filled his cup with pride each day. All he knew was that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes upon, and that her voice as it carried on the evening breeze was caressing as the gentle surf, and that it kept his mind swimming with intoxication more potent than the ale he was handed. 

"Pleased you decided to join us." Milena offered, settling in front of the fire beside Mag for supper. Kjaran only nodded, and with his bound hands lifted his cup to her. 

"The arrows being aimed at my men and I might have had something to do with it." The amusement left her face, and so he continued, feeling Nefir jab him in the back for his rudeness. "But your hospitality is appreciated regardless." 

"Ah, so he does speak." Mag interjected with a wry grin. "You're very welcome Jarl. Hopefully a good meal eases your spirit some." 

His lips tensed into a less than friendly expression, ready to argue for his freedom again, but as Mag went to finish preparing the boar, he noticed Milena's blue eyes watching him over his cup of ale. Kjaran realized his own desire in that moment, more than just a boorish want to lay with her, but something forbidden stirring within him that wanted to keep her power, her beauty, her very strength sacred. Even as the food was served, and they all nestled into the fire's warmth, he could see that weary sadness in her eyes, typically lost by daylight to a sure confidence to hide worries she never spoke of. His craving of her, to know more of her had his stomach twisted with blind emotion likened to a younger lovestruck boy with the mighty passion. 

Kjaran told himself he could fight the attraction, it was against his code as a good man and Chieftain to covet another man's wife. It was easy to rationalize as he thought about it, being at sea for many days often left a man thirsty for more than ale and good tides. When faced with such beauty, it was easy to let desire cloud a man’s reasoning. After all, at the end of this excursion, it could very well be her sword to claim his head.

Completing her meal, Milena began to sway like the breeze to a melody only she could hear. A most beautiful, haunting song in an old Nordic language of their ancestors filled the air when she began to sing, prompting Nefir to join her, complementing the ethnic roll of Milena's tongue. She lilted against his deep voice, keeping Kjaran arrested by their song of Odin's praise over wind, sea, and fire. He couldn't deny the power within her voice, soft and purring, but clear and sharp as a knife. It was soothing, and noticeably, those around them became drowsier with food and song. 

For the first time in weeks, his throat had ale and his stomach was full of the most delicious meat and greens. It did wonders for the overall spirit, settling contentment among them as Nefir held most captive with his storytelling by merely reading the stars. Milena was propped against Mag’s shoulder, watching the flames dreamily as though she could see every word spoken of Nefir’s story. Kjaran found himself unable to look away from her as though her siren’s song still rang clearly in his mind. Fire danced and flickered through her hair like stolen treasure, and her eyes gleamed a sapphire blue in the dark, full lips quirked in a small dreamy smile. Kjaran could feel his resolve slip away, all that rationalizing his craving of her becoming moot as he felt himself falling into a foreign emotion.

It was late when they retired, he noted how his men were separated and taken to guarded tents. Mag had taken Nefir to guard, the robust woman from earlier took Jǫðurr, and Zephyr was taken by another woman he didn't recognize. Milena was smart to have them split, now knowing not one would leave without the other, but would die for any of them recklessly. He wanted to be angry, but was far too weary for it with a full stomach and warmer air fragrant with earth and rain.

“Come. You’ll sleep comfortably in my tent tonight.” Her voice was soft, she seemed timid by guilt and nothing else, but Milena gestured with a hand for Kjaran to follow her. Compliance was really his only option, so by moonlight he followed her across the dimly lit shore to a darkened alcove that hid their tents well. Hers was large, made from the sails of their ships, the bottom lined with fur on which they would sleep. She wouldn't look at him, or really speak to him, and Kjaran was lost for any words he could say. None that wouldn't sound angry at least and he felt justified for that, he had every reason to hate her, and yet he could not. It was quiet for too long, heavy with mistrust, and awkward because neither slept well. There were no long sighs or deep rhythms of breathing, only silence and the pitch blackness of night.

"I was wrong to judge you." She spoke finally, somewhere in the hour after midnight, hushed under the rhythmic sound of insects and the ocean breeze through the grass. "I said those horrible things to you... because I am a guilty woman." 

"What crime have you committed other than a rash tongue?" Kjaran shifted to face her, trying to find her eyes in the heavy darkness and finding nothing. Milena slept close though, close enough he could feel the warmth of her through the simple dress minus the pinafore and thunder rumbled softly in the distance.

“Victory does not always come with fortune. I tell myself often the Gods know what is best, that I will overcome their tests of will and try my hardest to stay on a path that honors them." 

"Let me guess... you were arranged into a powerful marriage, and my intrusions have torn you from a hearth surrounded by many Sons." The amused smirk fell from his lips as lightning lit the sky. Perhaps the devastation on her face was something to go by, but Milena wouldn't look at him. It felt as though she wore her shame like it was branded into her forehead. 

"Not all powerful women are gifted such fortunes. As you said, it's about finding the right path." She spoke with certainty, smiling forcibly as though she wanted to say more. Not that it wasn't fair, he divulged a rather personal detail of himself yet it was easier for a man. He could remarry and no one would be the wiser. 

"I meant no offense." 

"My husband is all of those things that I accused you of, and I took this errand with intention for divorce upon my return." He swore he heard her sniffle, or shift against the furs to perhaps face him as well. "He was my intended based on the life I could give him, because I was told he would bless our home with strong Sons and beautiful Daughters, and we have none. Asger warms many women's beds but has met no child." 

"How do you know this?" Kjaran found himself wanting to reach for her, knowing regardless her unhappy tale, it wasn't his place. Further unable to hate the woman who committed such offenses to him personally, but everything about her seemed to click into place. It only fanned the flame of his fascination of her, his want to know her, to touch her, to protect her.

"People speak. People I trust know things and I am not one to question the validity of their words. But I am away for long periods of time, and a man isn't shamed or shunned as a woman is for adultery, so there is no point. It won't matter upon my return, when I end it. I must." 

"He will be shunned by the completion of your divorce. Exiled." He felt perhaps more pleased by the notion at this point that the dog who thought to call himself a man might get what he deserved. How could anyone have such a woman under his marriage contract and not cherish her?

"Am I wicked for knowing this and wanting to act anyway? I could be shunned as well... and yet vanity tells me my Jarl would protect me, as I have always protected her. It isn't fair, but my prayers for children have become sour on my tongue, and my hope for a loving husband died with his growing bitterness. I prayed for a path, and Freyja spoke." 

"What did she say?" 

"Freyja sent me this opportunity. Whatever comes of this venture Jarl, I'll follow the path away from Asger. I am still young, and I want to secure my legacy before I am old, or the raids claim me to Fólkvangr. My path is my ship and the winds that guide her sails.”

"I thought you would call me Kjaran." He smiled, knowing she wouldn't see it, almost wishing she could. "Your ship is beautiful, yet well sailed."

“Yes well, a silly girl's dream. I have a beautiful ship with my golden idol, blessed by the same moon. She is my world, my path, an extension of myself. I only thought you should know I am sorry for my offenses earlier. I did not mean to get so personal, but to be fair... you were being a nosy swine. And I am happy Odin embraces your Son... I didn't know." 

"He was only nearing his third year. Died of fever while I was away with his Mother raiding. The Gods were so angry with her for breaking our marriage out of ceremony, committing adultery with a man who worships a singular false God. Her blasphemy cost me more than I took back with me from the West." Kjaran cleared his throat, unsure why he bared his soul to his captor. Darkness veiled his confessions, and so he found the truth easier this way. "With any luck, the English Nobleman she abandoned us for found her beliefs erroneous enough to burn her as a witch. But our Son was the lucky one, he never knew of her crimes."

"Two years have passed...I think you would have married again." 

"There were a few promising maidens....but unlike your Clan mine is teeming with men, and unwed women aren't as easily found. None worth warming the throne beside mine."

"Just your bed, or are you so selective?" Kjaran sighed at this, hearing the teasing in her voice he rolled his eyes. 

"Goodnight Milena." It was the first time he’d said her name aloud, a mistake he found, because it was so beautiful, so smooth on his tongue that even in irritation he wanted to stay awake speaking until dawn in case the occasion arose for him to say it again.

She laughed quietly at his bland inflection, but he felt her scoot closer to him until her back almost touched his chest. Hands bound or not, Kjaran hadn't slept so well in two years. 

* * *

The Sun had barely risen, only lighting the white tent enough to barely see through the filter the canopy of thick leaves around them provided the Sun. Her eyes opened sleepily, meeting the palest of blue set against deeper sun kissed skin so quietly watching her. There was a beat of silence between them, each seeming to study the other as at some point in the night Milena had turned to face him and practically burrowed herself against his chest. Kjaran was warm after all, seeming to radiate with it and the mornings were still a bit chilled. He not only wore a scar through one brow, but quite a few under his tunic based on gossip she knew would break out amongst the archers that guarded them as they bathed along, with other rumors she couldn't dare entertain. 

"Early riser too I see." His words were deep murmurs, quiet and contained within the small space between them. His bound hands shifted to brush a rogue strand of hair from her cheek and Milena felt her world seem to shift a little. Her heart beat much harder in her chest, unable to look away from the pale crystalline blue of his eyes and knowing she needed to stay true to the mission and not bury her sorrows in the lips of potential enemies no matter how beautiful they were. She sat up with a dry swallow, not understanding the boldness herself, she found her fingers untying the knots around his wrist, inviting him to sit up as well. "What are you doing?"

"Your wrists will never heal with these ropes around them." Eyeing him warily, the rope was set aside and she reached for two bowls at the opposite corner of the tent. "And I made some salve that will subside the pain and help it heal. I'll wrap it, if you'll let me." 

"Bold of you, considering you've kept me prisoner the past week. Are you sure it's wise that you free me?" Kjaran stretched his arms in an attempt to restore the blood flow to them, groaning tiredly as he sat up. 

"The bonds have merely been a formality, I could kill you rather easily with or without them." Her brow raised, a daring glance shot his way at the faint hint of a gleam in his pale eyes. "Test me if you'd like, I'd have more use for your seat as Jarl of the North than keeping you prisoner." 

"You want to be a Jarl?" He did smile at this, leaning forward while she mixed a green paste in a crude bowl, and Milena pretended not to notice him staring. 

"Not particularly, I'm not much for playing judge and jury." Shrugging, she gathered some of the mixture onto her fingers and held her other hand out for his. She avoided his eyes as her fingers brushed over the back of his hand when he slid it into her palm. 

"Only executioner then." 

"If blood protects my people and allows them to prosper, if it is the will of the Gods, I see no harm in spilling it." Gingerly she applied the thick green paste over the angry looking rope burns. He only hissed through his teeth at the astringent sting when she rotated her attention to the softer skin on the inside of his wrist. 

"I suppose it's permissible in private to admit admiration for my captor." Milena smiled then, meeting his eyes through the thick silver fringe swept over one eye, still disheveled from sleep. 

"Why must admiration be made in private? Because I am a woman?" She knew the home was a typical place for a woman, a norm in their culture and it didn't always suit her entirely. Her world was on that ship now, the only freedom she had because her own house felt like a prison, her marriage the torture. Of course Milena always thought she could justify her restlessness given the lack of men in their settlement. There were plenty of them of course, just none in power, and the women did outnumber them a great deal. Most were older, bearded, fat and contented men who kept them well fed and entertained.

"Because you are my captor, and in ways I respect that you are stronger than myself. Clearly, or I wouldn't have allowed myself to be caught." Milena raised her brow, tempted to roll her eyes really. Flattery could get you everywhere unless you were her. She'd heard it all about her beauty and charms, mostly Asger accusing her of flaunting it, and it stopped working for her long ago. "I am not ashamed to admit that it gives me some purpose to better myself. I should have killed you right there and I didn't." 

"Better yourself in manners that don't include invading lands you have been warned were blessed and riddled with both marvels and horrors of Midgard's magic? You could have tried harder to kill me but it would not have turned in your favor." Milena paused, still cupping one of his hands in both of hers, seeing irony in their conversation as she tried to administer a healing balm to his wounds. She tore her eyes from his again and reached for his other hand. "I will say you are either very brave, or very stupid." 

"My sword, which you so graciously confiscated is marked by Tyr's rune. Some would agree I am both, but my victories have lead me to believe I am blessed by his justice." 

"I saw it... it is a very fine weapon, beautifully crafted." She bit her bottom lip between her teeth, unsure why she felt the heat of flush rise to her cheeks when she began to wrap his wounds with a fine linen. "Brave then. I can't imagine a wealthy and well revered Jarl to be stupid. You did kill a King to appoint your own." 

"Flattery now?" The bitter bite in his voice snapped her eyes back to his, clashing in a mutual irritation. He sighed, something between defeat and relief when she secured and bandaged his wrist. "Do you often kick your captors after you've taken their boats and crew? I'm fairly certain at this stage my King, whom yes I killed for, would say I'm very, very stupid." 

"I think I've been more than reasonable." Milena frowned and reached for her knife, she stared down at it a moment before offering it to him. Kjaran looked at her like she'd gone mad, accepting only after she pushed it toward him again. "You may use my mirror to shave, what's left of this salve should help prevent too many cuts. Whatever is growing on your face isn't suiting, and I've seen you scratch at it. I don't think I need to warn your further, do not prove to me that you are in fact stupid." 

"Fair enough." She held the mirror for him, steadily as she could while he removed coarse stubble from his face very carefully. 

"Why ARE you being so compliant. You could probably overpower me right now and there wouldn't be much I could do to stop you. Though I do have ways to stop you." 

"Planting ideas in my head or testing me?" He cleaned the knife in a bowl of water, and paused before he continued shaving. "I admitted admiration for you, not only that you were able to capture us, but you continue to stay a step ahead. My men are scattered. I won't be leaving without them and I wouldn't get far on my own against your Shield Maidens." 

"Well, if nothing else, you're not as stupid as I thought you were."

"What are these siren-like qualities in your voice? I witnessed the creature's fear of you, but you claim to be able to deafen, and more." 

"It has been there as long as I have been a woman. Power to manipulate not just sirens, but I can use tone and pitch to deafen, stun, manipulate...and seduce." Their eyes met once more, Kjaran set the knife down once done shaving and slowly slipped it toward her, blade pointed away from her. She turned away briefly to toss it toward the leather clothing she'd change into. 

"Manipulation...seduction... you say you're no witch, so what are you?" She whipped around to meet his eyes again, breath caught as he slowly took the mirror from her hand. He seemed so close suddenly, and she felt a magnetism toward him as though he drew her in somehow. The anxiety, the thrill of it churning her insides in this silent beat she thought he might try to kiss her. 

"I am a Shield Maiden... nothing more." She whispered, wetting her dry lips with a thirsty tongue that proved to be distracting for him. "I'm going to tie your hands again... the linen should protect the burns enough until we reach the springs..." 

"You are something more." He declared, willingly positioning his hands between them solemnly for her to tie the rope. His finger softly brushed her cheek, an act of affection she was both unaccustomed to and unprepared for. Milena found herself leaning into the touch, all too distractedly winding the rope around his wrists making sure to secure them around the bandages to prevent further contact with his skin. The very moment his breath hit her lips, she heard Mag cry out, barking directions as they'd begun to pack up and reload the ships, and pulled the secured rope back around his wrists a bit too tight when she pulled away. Milena cleared her throat, issuing a hardened glance into his eyes before loosening the bonds enough to allow for blood flow. 

"Now turn around so I can change, and if you peek I'll use your cock as bait for the boars." Kjaran chuckled lightly and turned his back with a heavy sigh. She swallowed hard, pretending her knees weren't weak and shaking while she stared at his back and pulled the plain dress over her head. Impressively, true to his word, he sat there like a statue until she was changed. Milena frowned at the feeling churning in her stomach and thought maybe she should trade Mag and have her care for the Jarl while they remained under their captivity, and she would take the rather friendly giant Nefir. 

She packed up the few belongings she had in a hide satchel, taking a moment to quickly arrange her hair, pinning the fringe around her eyes away from her face and adding a few braids. It was just easier for life at sea when you have especially long hair for it to be gloriously out of your way, a sign of beauty for it to be so intricate, so Milena always aimed for both. Without a word, she settled on her knees behind Kjaran, eyeing his silver hair, long to the middle of his back and hesitated to touch it before fingering the silken strands and running a bone comb through the gathered section. 

"Just don't make me look like one of your maidens." Kjaran quirked with amusement on his tone. She considered it of course, donning his silver locks in something elaborate and feminine, but had something else in mind. 

"Doesn't seem like you have much of a say, does it?" She chewed her bottom lip between her teeth, her fingers running through thick locks and she began to braid bits away from his face similarly to the way he wore it the first time she saw him. His hair was surprisingly soft, even more surprisingly natural to him, and he had a ton of it. "There, should be good to sail. Now we should get moving, I'm needed to help load the ship." 

"Me and my men are more than capable to help you know..." 

"You're also more capable of fighting and escaping than I'm even giving you credit for. I take no chances, so you and your men will do nothing." Milena frowned, shifting her hide bag over one shoulder, she'd come back for her tent and furs. 

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment." 

"Take it as you will, I will choose to stop taking your offers as an insult to my intelligence. I'm not letting you go." She pouted her bottom lip, glaring up at him as she lead him from their tent down toward the beach. Her back stiffened, Kjaran bending toward her ear as he walked, a dark quirk of his lips that sent a frenzy over her skin at the sound of his low voice.

"Such promises you make, Milena.” 


	4. Wrath from the Gods

The morning was overcast from the rains that fell in the night, but after a good meal and a restful night's sleep, their people readied the boats with high spirits. Milena fixed his ropes to the front post that supported their awnings so he could sit or stand as he pleased, and duck into the cover when weather permitted. Of all of them, she was the most radiant, climbing to drape her arms over the golden idol of Freyja carved intricately into the bow of her ship. 

While he remained silent, Kjaran observed the infectious joy on her face, the wind billowing back her plaited hair, and freedom spread wide across her lips with a happiness that was all but absent from the previous night. She'd sounded so solemn in those dark hours of intimacy that had nothing to do with touching, but for the first time, the girl had shared something real of herself. Not that this joy he saw now wasn't real, Milena said it herself that this ship was an extension of herself, and all Kjaran could see was how worn it was. 

By the afternoon, they began putting up the protective awnings along the center of the ship to protect them from the impending storms. The wind carried a telling scent of rain along with a slight but refreshing chill from the heavy grey clouds looming in the distance. By the grace of his orders, or whatever spell these beautiful women had cast over them, the few of his men on board, remained almost jovial in their work. The rest of them, like himself, still left helpless with their hands tied seemed to be kept in moods more consistent with the increasingly turbulent weather. 

"Always carry more sails than you'd ever need in a raid of many months." Milena advised with a wink, pausing to tutor him as though she hadn’t just ripped him from his immaculately prepared and organized ship days prior. Kjaran rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.

"I have likely been on twice the raids you have. I'm not a fool." 

"Must I keep reminding you that it is  _ you  _ bound in rope, and one of my best Shield Maidens navigating _ your  _ ship?" She pointed at his prized warship, the proud dragon's head more intricate than the rest of his fleet by Jǫðurr's skillful carvings. He frowned, shooting a cold glare her way, but thought better of spitting more insults at her.

"I suppose I should be glad my captor has some sense on a ship then. Will you be leaving my men in the rain when it comes?" Kjaran had considered them lucky on this journey in the ways of fair weather, it was a blessed thing that the rains were just on time after the plant of the harvest. Everything would become new and the rejuvenating Spring rains would water their crops. Not that it helped his current situation.

"Of course not. You'll do well to remember that you asked for this treatment when you tried to take off my head. I'm not cruel." Milena shifted on her feet, her raised brow just as smug as her lips as she spun so gracefully on her toes to get back to helping them raise the shelters. Kjaran grew frustrated, unsure how often he had to tell himself that her leather clad attire, fine and perhaps a bit too well fitted, wasn’t distracting. That his attraction was merely a symptom of being at sea for too long without the company of a woman. The thought that it could be real was enough to sour his mood further. 

"Would your husband agree?" The poor sporting words spilled from his mouth before he realized he’d said them. Not that he knew her husband’s side to things, perhaps Milena was in fact charming, but only on the surface. His ex wife had been lovely at face value, and yet to this day he’d never met a more kniving wretch. 

"Excuse me?" She whipped around, a familiar but dangerous gleam in her eye. Kjaran knew how to play with fire and come out unscathed, but this girl was something different. It was thrilling to test her rather thin patience, see what sparked a reaction in her. Perhaps it would work two fold and Milena would grow to hate him so he could better forget his apparent draw to her, and yet as she glared those blue eyes rimmed thick with soot, he found his heart beating against his ribcage. 

"Well you speak so poorly of the man, claim you'll divorce him.." She glanced around frantically at his carefree words to ensure no one else heard him. Divorce was a touchy subject, especially for a woman of her status. "I don't know this man. As you alluded it was my doing that landed me divorced... perhaps it is fair for me to think you may have wronged him?" 

"How dare you..." She whispered heatedly, coming close enough that no one else would hear them. Disgust tugged at her lips, there was a bitter pain laced in the tones of her voice, and the remnants of some awful betrayal flickered behind her eyes before returning to cold steel. "You know nothing about me, or about my marriage." 

"After last night, I know enough." He peered at her icily and swallowed hard when her stare did not waver. “Clearly this decision was not mutual.”

"I'm sorry I ever said anything. After everything, I thought you were a man with some sort of discretion or honor." 

"I never claimed to be anything. You assumed. Have you thought maybe you just don't please your husband? Certainly he could perform well enough to at least give you a son." 

"There would be no complaint of my skills from any man, let alone my husband. He's simple to say the least." Her arms crossed over her chest and she scowled at him, something like a judgemental cat, patient before its claws came out. "You have no place Jarl, you're unmarried yourself, no?"

"For now. But I'd say you have no place speaking to me about extra sails and water, things I've dealt with on my own ship since before you had even exchanged swords with your beloved. If he's as simple as you say, it says little about your abilities. Some men aren't so easily sated." 

"Like you?" Milena seethed, glaring into his stony eyes, she stepped forward until he could clearly see the freckles spattered lightly over the bridge of her nose, and he could appreciate the tones of blue in her eyes. "I could arouse you beyond measure with a look. I could sate your need with my voice alone." Her voice had grown a bit huskier, primal, something laced in the undertones that made his throat run dry.

"You could try." He dared her despite himself, lifting his scarred brow and trying to pretend that gleam in her eye wasn't something erotic and dangerous, thrilling in a way it shouldn't have been. 

"Or I could just kill you." Milena spat, her eyes dancing fearlessly between his own before she spun gracefully on her heel over the deck of the ship. 

Kjaran watched her, swearing the temperature outside raised a few degrees as she shot a wanton glance toward one of his men she'd acquired. He swallowed hard again, dazed at the sauntering swing of her hips as she approached this man who seemed all too enchanted by her. He heard Milena order him to keep working, balancing a hand on his shoulder as she came up on her toes to lilt a sound into his ear. He was a younger boy, not much older than she was if Kjaran had to guess, but he watched the man's knees buckle, lips parted in pleasure, and he paused with the need to grip the side of the ship with the intensity of a rather abrupt release. Milena glanced over her shoulder one more time to glare back at him. A scathing glance of warning, or perhaps a promise that Kjaran decided he did not want to test.

Rain was inevitable and gave way to storms the later the day grew, their shallow warships spilling over choppy waves, propelled forward as the wind blew fierce. Kjaran ducked inside the awning once Nefir, Jǫðurr, and Zephyr were moved and tied to the mast just behind him. Wary looks were shared among them, unnerved by the casual manner in which these women carried on in the storm. Drenched and somehow exhilarated, Milena joined them beneath the awning and settled down beside him to catch her breath. 

"You really had no men at all aboard your ships?" Nefir's brown eyes observed the women as they carefully moved over the decks, and even continued to row. Magnhildr took her place toward the bow to navigate, her hair pulled back in many braids, soaked auburn curls falling down her back in a contained tail. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Kjaran the way the hulking blacksmith watched the immensely strong but jovial Shield Maiden who seemed to embrace the rain as it pelted her tall form. 

"We have plenty of men now that we have claimed yours. Mag is stronger than ten of them, Thor is kind to her." Milena was too focused on ensuring the tent was secured enough to pay him too much mind. 

"Thor only favors the strongest." She smiled at his doubtful claim, glancing out at Mag knowingly, before shifting that grin toward Nefir at the first rumble of thunder in the sky. Kjaran thought about interjecting, but knowing Thor was Nefir's favored God for all his strength, thought better of trying to win that fight against her. "Your words anger him." 

"You say this now. It is a good omen, one that will get us safely to a midway point by the hot springs on the far island." Thunder clapped louder this time, the waves creating a rockier journey. The waves that crashed over their deck, the hard pull of the wind through her orange and yellow striped sail kept Jǫðurr on edge enough to silence him. 

"Perhaps we should wait it out. I think you owe Thor your apologies, his hammer sounds angry."

"Those who have never sailed at sea with Mag wouldn't know the gifts his wife Sif blesses her with." Water rushed over Kjaran's boots and he frowned, appraising his bound status like he hadn't spent weeks this way, and wondered how his own ship was faring. Milena however, sounded sure enough for the lot of them. 

"Then it is Sif who grants her favor, and you offend our great God of Thunder." Milena smirked at this, shifting slowly with a steadying hand on one of the ropes as she almost slipped with the rocking of the ship. 

"Who better inspires a man's hammer than his wife?” Kjaran swallowed an amused chuckle, Nefir not quite as charmed. Outright irritable at the next much louder crack of thunder, followed by brutal torrents of rain. Mag called out for rowers to keep their pace, directing the ship as Kjaran might have directed his own, and aside from antagonizing his men, Milena kept a close watch on things herself. 

Mag went silent then, the crowded tent merely watching as she sat gazing out over dark and trepidatious waters. The air was electric, clouds black above, and the rather soaked auburn haired woman fell into an almost trance-like state. The rain pelted over their boat, the waves becoming increasingly violent. 

Mag had a team all her own, women suited and trained to handle ships in such storms and Milena was glad to leave navigations and duties up to them a moment to rest. Not to mention the men's reactions were all too priceless to miss. 

"What is that crazy woman doing?!" Nefir shouted over the bone rattling claps of thunder. 

"She is praying to Sif. Who best to ensure our good fortunes at her husband's mischief? Your lack of trust is not lending to such good fortunes." Nefir went stone faced, turning toward Kjaran without his standard amusement at the notion they should trust any of them an inch.

"These women are fucking mad. They will see us to unfavorable deaths." 

"I choose to keep some faith. Odin placed them in our path. We would have died more shameful ones had they not-" 

"Stolen our ships? Taken us for fucking slaves?" Jǫðurr leaned forward between them, animalistic distaste and fear in his blue eyes. "We would have been better off left as bait for the Sirens." 

"He's right for once, saved from Sirens by worse ones." Zephyr muttered almost bored in tone though his green eyes tried to see out passed the tent's opening as though he thought he could navigate or see anything from their current positions.

"Flattery isn't going to save your ships." Milena turned with a playful wink, and settled almost intimately against Kjaran to rest. The tent was a tight squeeze as it was, so he merely stayed quiet, complacent as he could while the waves tossed the ship around like a piece of driftwood. He'd give credit to it's maker that it was sturdy, well made in comparison to even some of their own before Jǫðurr showed up to improve them. Regardless, anything could happen, and he had a bit of anxiety about his own ship’s well being, and so he focused on Milena’s sopping wet form leaned against him, not that any of them were very dry. 

The storm passed some time in the night, the rain unrelenting for over a day, which went from a fine and well thing to something that placed everyone on edge. You could scarcely move as it was with your hands tied to a pole with three other men, let alone the others that came and went from the small tents to sleep or rest. Kjaran began to feel claustrophobic and near begging to be placed back in his spot regardless of the downpour or concerning amount of water washing over the deck. Oddly enough the only time he felt comfortable was at night. Often Milena slept toward the front of the tent beside him when she could sleep, not that anyone did much of that. It wasn't easy when the Gods poured their wrath from above and Thor slammed his hammer with bone jarring fury.

He'd never been so glad when the awnings were taken down, the feeling of fresh salty air filling his lungs, blowing through his silvery hair, and immediately it appeared that spirits were lifted. The decks were wet and slippery, but overall he was impressed by the manner in which the ships were maintained. Milena prepared the food, allowing Mag some rest after an eventful few days, meaning it would be nothing but salted fish and fruit, perhaps some dry bread if they were lucky. 

"I feel sorrier for your husband still for these meals you prepare." He jabbed distastefully while he reluctantly ate from the hands of another one of her Maidens. True, the rest of his men seemed to be enjoying the deceivingly lavish attention they were provided but Kjaran was still hellbent on making them as miserable as he was. 

"Good thing you aren't my Husband." She grumbled, in passing, otherwise ignoring his blatant attempts to antagonize her. 

"Now that we're out of that Hel storm, may I request my place near the bow?" She rolled her eyes, gathering various carved wooden plates for rinsing but he did not miss the smallest of smirks quirking her lips while she tended to her chores. 

"In a moment Jarl, the rains may have stopped but things must dry up some. We almost didn't survive, but I told you to trust in her. Mag always sees us through." He rolled his eyes at her retreating back, turning to meet two very amused green eyes.

"I'm starting to really think you fancy her." Zephyr quipped, only bringing the mischievous gleam to Jǫðurr's eyes and a slow smile to Nefir. 

"Because I asked to be moved away from you buffoons a moment?" Kjaran glared, but Jǫðurr only chuckled.

"I see the way she lays beside you at night, how you're always poking at her. Perhaps her husband is lucky your hands are bound or you may not keep them to yourself." 

"The only thing my hands would be guilty of in this moment is bloodying your pretty face Jǫðurr." Grumbling, he blew a rogue bit of silver fringe from his face and glanced around to see how well the fleet fared now that there were twice the ships to manage. The sun beamed high in the sky through thick grey clouds, barely visible but enough for him to know the day grew later. They sailed bordering no land, dangerous to sail into such deep, dark waters. Danger had always deterred him least of all, but there was something off about the scene of the grand fleet against the darkened sky, with even darker waters. 

* * *

They'd lost another ship overnight, Milena was keeping track but it was to be expected during such a grand storm seeing as some of their ships were ill fit to sail the high waves of a trepidatious sea. Nothing ever without its sacrifice. 

Mag rested while she tended the crew and the goat they kept on board, helped to remove lingering water, and hoped the decks would dry under a midday sun, but it had yet to break free of heavy grey clouds. After so many days they were all weather-beaten and tired from being soaked through and huddled under tight quarters for so long. Truly it felt good to move so freely, seeing to the crew's comfort and offering the help she could even though they were all tired of salted fish and hardened bread at this point. Milena was excited. In a few more days they would reach their midway point to wait for Sefi's instruction, and she'd be able to think, and relax in the comfort of a soothing hot spring. 

She smiled thoughtfully to herself, sitting on the deck to rinse the wooden dishes over the side of the ship before she tucked them away. Suddenly, a strong scent filled her nose, it smelled strongly of fish, mingling with something she knew but couldn't place, a strange odor that tensed her brow. Gazing out over the horizon toward the fleet that followed, the scene looked strange suddenly. The sky was dark, yes, but the waters were a solid pitch black. Alarmed, Milena pulled the dish she was rinsing up, eyes growing wide with terror when the thing came back coated in an oily black substance that now engulfed a vast wide area directly under her ships. 

Abandoning the rest of the dishes, she sprinted carefully over the slippery deck where Mag lay resting on a few furs she'd kept in place so the Storm Maidens could regain their strength. 

"Mag, we're in trouble. I need you to wake up quickly, we must get the ships far from here right away. It may already be too late." The woman in question batted at her sleepily, her eyes glossy like emeralds in wake from sleep, widened at the frantic look in Milena's eyes. 

"What is it Millie?" 

"The waters have run black, smell the air- we are in grave danger. The beast has targeted us." By us she meant the entire fleet, common for such a creature, and the main reason entire fleets of Northmen had gone missing over the years with no explanation. Knowing this as she did, Milena did know there was a chance, however slim that was that they could escape it. 

"Shit..." Mag breathed, taking a deep inhale of the salty and putrid air. She scrambled to her feet and raised a flag meant to signal the ships behind them for calm, and quiet, and to row double time. 

"What is that smell?" Kjaran's expression was hard, and he tugged gently at the rope around his wrist when she shifted toward him. She didn't have time for him, she didn't have time for anything but arming them all with spears.

"Keep your men quiet. We may see Valhalla yet by days end." His eyes grew more intense, clearer with something like rage, but never fear.

"Cut us free, we can help if you tell me what threat we face. I at least deserve to know what sort of death we'll be delivered." 

At this, and before she could complete any form of preparation, a long rust-colored tentacle raised from black waters, slippery and slimy, and larger than one of their ships. Silence fell over the crew, all staring with wide eyes as it flailed and did nothing more than create turbulent waves with its movement. A screeching sound pierced the air as the thick appendage shrieked with a mouth filled with razor-like teeth just before it disappeared beneath the ink sodden sea. Even Milena was ill prepared to handle a Kraken, so much about the creature unknown since no one really ever lived to speak of it's attack. 

She called for faster strokes, rowing off course, using the waves the beast created to try and increase speeds out of the inky trap it laid out for them, and the once serene waters quickly turned into Hel on the open seas. She ignored the growling, angry pleas of Kjaran and his men to be free as more tentacles blasted out of the water, capsizing one ship and gripping another in it's horrible grasp. 

"It's turned the waters black so we cannot see it strike us in, or out of the water! Cut us free you foolish fucking girl!" Zephyr growled and struggled, and Nefir damn near tried to tear down the mast they were tied to. Jǫðurr remained all too calm, calculated, or perhaps he was complacent of his fate.

"We may have no option Milena!" Mag called out, donning her spear in hand, eyes darting around as more, and more teeth baring tentacles emerged to thin out their fleets. Boats began capsizing by large, rogue waves created by the creature, hungry for the blood that no doubt seeped into the blackened depths for the beast's satisfaction. They held on for dear life, throwing spears to no avail, seemingly only furthering its frenzy. 

One of her Maidens fell overboard, her ship almost capsizing and Milena grabbed the fallen woman's spear, throwing it at the appearance of the tentacle that created such a wave with an enraged scream of her own. The thing shrieked horribly, flailing more in anger than anything when the barbed spear embedded into the soft flesh near the mouth spouting a putrid fountain of blue colored blood. Another hulking extremity appeared on the other side of her ship, and she scrambled, slipping toward the pole where the four men remained helpless and captive.

"As promised," She met the pale blue stare of her captive Jarl, eyes wide and wary, "I will gift you with an honorable death." 

He nodded, her blade slicing through rope while Mag and several Spear Maidens tried to hold off the enraged beast with a barrage of spears. Milena noted another girl gone, along with two of Kjaran's men. Immediately the four of them raced, and slid along the deck toward the intricate trunk that housed their confiscated weaponry and tools. She half expected them to turn on her, surprised when Zephyr tried to maneuver the ship, and the other three began throwing calculated spears with power and precision at exposed appendages. The thinning fleet wasn't any match for a foe, they couldn't see through clouds of ink, but with hope, some of them would make it through. It would be harder to see as the sun fell lower behind thick clouds, lightning illuminating the clouds. It probably rained, but no one could tell as water seemed to fall in blackened sheets from the sky. 

The headship of Kjaran's fleet was close, concerningly so that they might crash into the other with the next cresting wave created by the screeching, groaning beast that exceeded the height of their sails, the odds falling grossly out of their favor. Behind her, she watched yet another tentacle rise from the sea opposite their spear wielding crew, slamming two ships together, tossing them like they were merely wooden toys. At the next wave, Milena released her grasp on the ship, sliding nearly vertically across the sanded surface of the deck, crashing into the other side with impact that stole her breath for a moment. But she was desperate. 

Milena released the highest pitched noise she could, if her voice could make the Sirens flee in terror, she thought maybe it would make some difference against their sly but monstrous foe. For a moment she thought it worked, that the creature's mountainous tendrils screamed and tensed in pain at the shrill noise, learning rather quickly that it held the opposite reaction. They flailed, angry, or pained, wildly thrashing, creating more intense waves that crashed more ships together, and brought some of the ships too close in proximity. One swipe of a tentacle would wipe out about four of them. If she could get close enough to the beast's head... 

Ink now stained the decks of the ships, their clothes, hair, skin, making the already slick decks treacherous and further impairing their vision. She shrieked harder, louder until she felt the hot trickle of blood slowly seep from her ears, trailing down her neck in a slow, hot stream. That was what it took to realize how cold she was, the adrenaline throbbing through her like Thor's hammer as he pounded his rage from above, her fingers numb from the way they gripped the side of the ship with blistering strength. She took great solace knowing her prized vessel would usher her into Asgardian halls where she could embrace her beloved Freyja. 

The cry died in her throat, her vision blurring some, Milena shook it off, barely holding on tight enough as a tempermental ink saturated wave splashed and rolled over her form entirely. Defiantly she stared, prepared to face death in the face as this angered tentacle raced toward her, ready to slam into her ship. She threw her knife as it drew close, roaring louder than the thunder that clapped around them causing it to draw back some, but not relent it's hostile approach. A strong arm came from seemingly nowhere, lacing around her waist to pull her from the ship's side when the massive appendage wiped out half of her ship. 

It happened so fast, her vision impaired almost entirely from the water black enough to write with, saturated by so much fishy smelling ink, and blood from both their people, and the Kraken itself. The boat tilted dangerously from the impact, Milena's horror filled eyes meeting Mag's in time to see Nefir nearly tackle her over the edge as she slipped, and fell into the deep. Tears filled her eyes, she screamed, commotion behind her while others abandoned the damaged vessel for Kjaran's ship only meters away and she fought the barring strength of his arm. Not all would reach the prevailing ship. Zephyr was flung from the ship, knocking his head against the side on his way into black waters with a sickening crack. 

"Let me go!" She screamed, struggling against Kjaran's arm, the longship was sinking fast, and he tried to urge her toward his ship. Her eyes stung from the ink that dripped into them, the tears didn't help. Her marriage, Mag was certainly dead, and her ship... how had she gone so wrong?

"Get to my ship, he's my man, I must retrieve him." 

"You'll DIE fool! I stand a better chance!" He turned her to face him, shaking her by the shoulders. There was urgency in his expression, stubbornness in hers. 

"You'll die, same as me...." 

"Not if I can get close enough.... I can maybe stun the beast enough for you to get away." She tore her shoulders from him, nearly slipping into the waters. He swallowed hard, impatiently shifting his stare in the direction Zephyr had slipped. "Don't think about it Jarl. I will go... but you promise me something,  _ right now _ ." 

"We don't have time-" 

"PROMISE ME KJARAN!" She half sobbed, half screamed, knowing their time ran thin. "Promise you'll get what's left of my Maidens home. Give them a ship and sail as far from here as you can. My ship is lost...I have nothing... it doesn't matter.  _ PROMISE ME _ ." 

Her eyes would betray her, the eyes of a woman with nothing left. Her freedom, her ship sinking so quickly, his man dying if he hadn't been devoured by this thing yet. Unsure how she'd find him in the black depths but she would try if it cost her her life. Kjaran nodded, his eyes darting between hers in understanding. Jǫðurr called to him from their ship, tossing a rope to him so he wouldn't be lost as her ship would sink into the waters below. Milena felt his arm release her slowly, and he stepped backward to retrieve the rope to his ship. 

"You have my word. Bring him to me if you can, but help his soul to Valhalla and you'll have my thanks. See us to safety, Daughter of Freyja." Tears streamed down her face with her own nod at his assuring words. She trusted him. With her entire soul she had faith that he'd keep his word. And it was clear he held trust in her. 

Slipping from his grasp, Milena took a running head start down the slanting ship as it sank, and dove into the abyssal dark.

* * *

K jaran frowned, stealing the smallest of moments before the water reached his knees, the sad golden idol of Freyja growing lost to waves, and he felt the hull tilt. Milena was gone, lost he was certain, to whatever beast with it's seemingly endless tentacles that continue to ravage their masses with devastation. He shivered at the image of her diving willingly into those black waters for whatever oblivion awaited her, risking, or giving her own life for Zephyr.

"Kjaran! Get your ass on this ship you suicidal fool!" Jǫðurr was screaming from behind him, and a sharp whistle in front of him caught his attention. Nefir and Mag made it to one of the Knarrs and the Jarl's hope grew. He turned then, grasping the rope, he jumped from the edge, kicking toward his own familiar ship as Jǫðurr pulled with a mixture of a few Maidens and his Northmen. He coughed, spit the salty and pungent taste of ink from his mouth as he crawled beaten and worn onto the deck of his ship. "What the fuck does that mad witch think she's doing?" 

"She went for Zephyr..." Kjaran muttered distractedly, winded, and admittingly terrified. When the waves tossed them farther from the wreckage. It was too long, far too long for someone to survive this. Not with the tentacles that threw ships as though they were mere children's toys. "We remain silent, and wait." 

"Wait for what? That thing to notice us? It's running out of toys Kjaran...it's only a matter of time." Jǫðurr frowned beside him, leaning on his hands against the edge. "We could go you know. Go North. Go home."

"Not without Zephyr." Kjaran frowned, searching the blackened waters fruitlessly for any sign of life that wasn't a ship crushing wave, or monstrous tentacle. He gripped the hilt of his sword, knowing Jǫðurr wasn't entirely wrong. He had his ship, his weapons, but not all of his men. He felt like a traitor for not being the one to dive in after him, he almost had done so without thinking. But the hollow look in her eyes had stopped him, and he trusted her. Kjaran trusted her with their lives.

The strangest wave of power rippled over the agitated sea, spreading outward from a fixed point and the beast's tentacles went rigid, halting, before they began all flailing at once. Where they had agenda before, they writhed recklessly, all screaming horribly seemingly in pain from the mysterious source of this harsh vibration. A crowd joined Kjaran and Jǫðurr in fascination as the monster floundered. 

"MILENA!" A woman he hadn't met before shouted over the noise, and pointed before shuffling for rope. Kjaran saw her, ink covered and weak, blood dripping from her ears and nose into the water while by some miracle, she struggled to pull Zephyr along with her. Chants, prayers to the Goddess Freyja filled their ship while they all pitched in to pull the two onto the deck, as Milena weakly gripped the rope and tried her best to keep Zephyr’s pale face out of the water.

Kjaran greeted her, kneeling to help pull his man aboard, assessing him carefully. He wasn't breathing and though the gash in his head had stopped bleeding by now, it looked angry. Jǫðurr rushed over, pulling him aside and began trying his best to get the ink out of his lungs in order to breathe. He turned back in time to see Milena's eyes roll, and she began to sink again as she apparently blacked out. 

He would have gladly dove in after her, but there was no need as he caught her hand in his, and pulled her with surprising ease onto the deck. She WAS breathing, but it was shallowed and weak. Kjaran rolled her to her side, kneeling to steady her as she coughed and began vomiting black ink on the already stained deck of his ship before she went limp in his arms. But she was breathing.

"Is everyone safe? Everyone on board?" Nefir shouted, voice booming over the waves like thunder and chaos still ensuing around them. Kjaran motioned with his free hand to confirm this, worried eyes on Zephyr as Jǫðurr took over, and worked on him tirelessly. 

"He is breathing!" Jǫðurr called out, beating on him until he too poured a concerning amount of ink over the deck and he coughed, vomited, spasmed and fought for air himself. Kjaran released a breath he'd been holding, and praised whatever God had delivered them safely somehow. That was before the Kraken recovered, and it's tentacles began to seek what blood remained alive. 

"Are they safe!?" Nefir shouted again from the knarr several meters from them still, but he motioned affirmatively with his free hand once more. He howled loudly, a warcry Kjaran heard many times in their days together. He was angry, fiercely so at this beast who'd tried and failed to take them down. Mag joined his efforts, her Spear Maidens gaining the attention of the beast with more spears. Kjaran thought he meant to kill himself for their escape, but something so surreal happened, that he swore to never doubt any of their Gods again.

Nefir took Mag's iron spear in hand, shouting Thor's prayer in their old language to the stormy sky as he released the thing with a mighty roar. Somehow over the commotion Kjaran could hear this, as though the wind carried it to the ears of all the ships remaining and the air became electrified. It was Mag then, who raised her axe to the sky with wrath and joined in Nefir's prayer. Kjaran felt all of the hairs on his body stand, piercing eyes locked on the duo facing down a Kraken in a mere knarr ship, as lightning descended in green branches from the dark clouds above and struck the beast exactly where the iron spear protruded from it's awful tentacle. 

The thing howled, ear piercing sounds that did nothing to rouse Milena, but Zephyr, resting in Jǫðurr's lap fixed hooded and swollen green eyes on the creature as it fell limp and began to sink into the deep. All went silent then, save for triumphant cheers from the knarr where by some grace of Thor's blessing, Nefir and Mag slayed the beast together. Kjaran wondered then, if that strange pulse of power that shifted everything, had been Milena's doing. 

Exhausted as they were, the men took to rowing, dead fish and creatures slowly drifted to the surface either from the smothering ink, or the shock, filling the air with a more putrid smell than before. Mostly, Kjaran took the lead over his ship, far too eager to get out of those black waters and into clearer sea. He set up a tent like awning from one of his extra sails and made sure that Milena and Zephyr were warm, Jǫðurr looking after them both. 

“You.” Kjaran pointed breathlessly toward one of the archers he remembered from their last stop. “Are you able to navigate us to this midway point?” 

“Yes Jarl.” The girl appeared nervous now that he was freed, as though she expected him to turn on her. Ringing her hands she stepped forward, eyes shifting toward Milena’s unconscious form. “Milena and Mag have always taken care of us. You wish for us to lead you there instead of the North?” 

“We stick with the plan.” He swallowed, his own eyes glancing toward her with a bit of worry himself. “My men and I mean no one any harm. We’ve come this far and we need to get the wounded someplace safe, and account for our losses. I promised to get you home, if you’ll lead us forward.” 

“Yes Jarl.” She smiled then, relaxing and took the station to steer the ship. Jǫðurr was sound asleep, propped up against the back with Milena and Zephyr resting on either side of him. Kjaran frowned, and raked a hand down his face before taking a station to row. Their crew was slim, they’d need all the help they could get.

* * *

Her eyes opened slowly to greet the white canopy of an awning on a ship that wasn't her own. Sand grated her throat when she swallowed, fresh sea air burning in her lungs when she inhaled, and each twitch of her muscles felt like blades searing her flesh. Milena thought of her ship. Surrendered to the abyssal deep along with all of her hopes, her dreams of a valiant future that came from so many prayers. A path she thought was chosen wisely turned out to be the foolish hopes of an even more foolish girl. She thought, hoped that she had died, but this was no Valhalla.

Milena groaned when she sat up slowly, the ship unfamiliar and larger than she was used to. Her skin had been mostly wiped clean, hair still matted by salt water and patches of black ink. Her head still swam, and she crawled clumsily out from under the white cover of the awning to find them moving at half pace due to lack of rowers, and many sleeping bodies tucked neatly at rowing stations. They were all no doubt exhausted, still recovering from an encounter they shouldn't have survived. She was so happy to see stars, breathe fresh air and feel no rain.

"You shouldn't be up." A stony voice greeted from the bow of the ship as always. Kjaran was propped on a bench he'd made for himself on one of the storage trunks, silver hair billowing in the gentle breeze, strong face lifted toward the stars. She thought he really was beautiful, even when he looked so solemn. Perhaps more so that he hadn’t enslaved her women and directed them North when he had the chance. If the stars were anything to go by, they were still on course toward the Springs.

"I am thirsty." She stated plainly, glancing around for a barrel of drinking water that should have been in front of her, if she were on her ship. Milena swayed on her feet, staggering toward the edge to be sick. Her ship was gone, SHE was gone, all taken by the Kraken. A foolish path coming to an abrupt end with a foolish girl's notion that she was meant for more than just a Farmer's wife. And Mag, the memory of her beloved friend's widened green eyes as she fell into the blackened waters with Nefir. Lost to her, but no doubt found to the realm beyond their own, and while she should have been glad for her friend, she felt a hollow selfishness. Gods she'd been so wrong in all of it. 

"Here." A large but gentle hand caressed her back as she emptied the very little that was in her stomach over the edge of the ship. The fact that it was soothing only fed her need for tears, yet as always she defied her own weaknesses and masked them with her illness. Kjaran offered a cup of water that she accepted with no stubbornness, and he lead her with tenderness toward his bench at the bow. 

"I understand if you need to bind me." Her voice came flat, and she drank the water down almost too quickly. Kjaran said nothing, only taking the cup from her with understanding in his almost kind eyes, fingers brushing hers before he stepped casually toward the side of the ship where what was left of his drinking supply remained. Milena looked up at him warily when he returned and offered her more, plopping beside her on the trunk with a tired sigh. "I don't deserve your kindness after so many weeks of captivity. You should kill me, I suppose I deserve that much." 

"We're passed that, you and I." He didn't look at her, piercing eyes fixed on a bright Moon instead. "All things considered, I don't think it'll come to that." Milena tried so hard to fight the harsh prick of tears behind her eyes, unable to get the last image of Mag from her mind. Fearless as always as Nefir pulled her into the dark sea with him for reasons she'd never know. She felt so lost in her failure, so utterly hopeless. 

"How long was I asleep?" 

"Nearly a full day. We're only two away from your midway point assuming no other beasts rise from the waters to decimate us. According to one of your Maidens anyway, she's navigated for me while Zephyr recovers. I suspect she'd know the course to our destination better anyway." 

"Yes, it is a well hidden secret to our clan. We hold ceremony there often. Of course the path from our settlement is far less dangerous." She frowned, holding no joy in their destination knowing she'd share no mead with Mag in celebration of their dead, so many memories that should meet her fondly would fall to sorrow. 

"It should have been me, you know." Kjaran bit, glaring at her with a scolding expression, "Why are you so eager to die?" 

"What else is there?" She asked, meeting his wary eyes, taking a more dignified drink. Milena had to look away, staring down into the cup only to see dark waters. "You wouldn't understand."

"I might if you tell me. I too have lost everything while seeking the path forward. Protection and betterment for my people. Wife, child, all abandoned for a foolish dream. A path I thought had been the right one." She felt his eyes on her as she sunk onto the deck of the ship, hugging her knees to her chest with an embarrassingly shaky sigh. Milena swallowed hard, surprised when Kjaran slipped from his perch on the chest they sat on to sit beside her on the slightly dampened surface of the ship's deck. 

"It is easy for a man to start over. To make a mistake. He can always rebuild if he is strong, where women are shunned and labeled witches and whores. Judged and sold as slaves. If she utters the word divorce, or loses her ship... it is allowed but she loses such status, such power. I'm not one to need it, but when you've lost so much it's all you have left of your identity." A tear fell from her cheek and betrayed her. Sniffling, she wiped it away with a careless hand regardless if he saw it or not. "I should be glad that Mag has met our Gods, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like I needed her most now..." 

"I cannot deny that she is blessed, after what I saw, there is no question, but Mag has met no Gods Milena. Nefir pulled her from your ship just before that beast decimated half of it. They sail together on a Knarr just behind us." 

She snapped her eyes to his in disbelief, wide and glassy and blue before tears fell and she sobbed happily. Milena dropped the cup in her hand to throw her arms around Kjaran's neck, burying her face in the fur trim of his cloak at his shoulder. His entire body seemed to stiffen in her embrace, and he cleared his throat nervously. His arms were slow and awkward when he embraced her back, allowing her a moment of teary eyed happiness, the smallest moment of hope to ease her broken heart.

"She's really okay?" Her voice only came as a whisper, his pale hair soft against her cheek, strong arms becoming gentler the more they relaxed around her. 

"Nefir saw the monster coming, knew they stood no chance without swimming for another ship before they were crushed. He saw to it that she made it safe." Milena's eyes drifted shut at the very soothing tones of his voice, like a deep gentle hum she'd heard before as the wind shifted through the timber houses at home that used to lull her to sleep. 

"It seems that I owe your man many thanks." She pulled back, shifting on her knees slowly, muscles revolting at the motion. When he looked at her with disbelief of his own, eyes like moonstones in the darkness beneath his thick fringe of silver cascading to frame the side of his face, her insides seemed to turn on themselves. 

"I would say that despite these past weeks, it is I who owe you a great deal of thanks." Milena laughed in her throat a bit, amused as she leaned back against the side of the chest. 

"For stealing your ships and making you my prisoner? For a man of your status I'm sure it was a mighty blow to be taken by a woman like myself." 

"Maybe at first, but you kept your promise, and you almost died to keep it. For a man who has seen promises fall broken on many axes, that is worth more to me than any measurement of my ego. Above all, you have my thanks for saving Zephyr." Kjaran took the abandoned cup, peering inside to see if any water remained to steal a drink for himself, distracting her a moment by the manner in which he kissed the lip of it. 

"Why does he mean so much to you anyway? Do you prefer to enjoy him over women?" He nearly spit the water out, choking slightly at the question which produced a more genuine smile from her.

"While he is very pretty, I do prefer to spend my nights in the company of much prettier women." Recovering nicely he smirked, watching with rather apparent admiration when she laughed in a manner a bit freer than she might have before. Pleased that he wasn't so wrapped up in his own politics and all the justice that came from the title of Jarl to appear as cold as she'd initially thought he was. 

"I thought maybe your lack of wife was maybe the result of a lack of interest." Her cheeks grew warm and Milena tore her eyes from him in favor of a starlit sky, thinking in that moment that she might have caught some fever. 

"There is no lack of interest, more like a lack of opportunity." She bit her lip, feeling his eyes upon her but was unable to return his gaze. Somehow feeling meek beneath his clear blue stare, forgetting her place among her Clan and the husband she'd left at home. "Tell me, is it more than your desire for divorce that keeps you so sad? You know about my errant past, the least you can do is tell your captive what brings you such sorrow. Your Jarl still may have my head after all." 

"Hardly a dying man's last wish." She quipped finding herself leaning into the padding of the fur lined cloak at his shoulder. "You aren't dying yet. You'd be surprised at how Sefi doesn't favor bloodshed outside of ceremony to our Gods. There is still hope for you yet Kjaran." 

"Then how about a confession to a friend? I know what it means to feel hopeless. We find our purpose in our family, our legacy. Or seek a valiant death." 

"You seem content with the latter. I still have my pride Jarl, I know how clans outside my own revere women. I do not want to give you any of my weakness or shame so that you might use it against me later. I've already said too much when I spoke of Asger." His hand, large and warm wrapped around her wrist when she attempted to stand. Not that Milena was quite ready to return to the shelter of the crowded awning where the sick and injured rest. There was something jarring in Kjaran's almost too understanding approach, that kept her wary if nothing else. 

"Do I appear weak to you? Less than for being an unmarried Jarl, captured for weeks by one of the strongest women I've ever encountered?" She searched his face for any sign of insincerity as she slowly sat back down beside him. 

"No... you don't appear weak to me at all. Most men in your position begged and pleaded with me to free them. Tried to kill me, or force themselves upon me every chance they had." She laughed darkly and brushed a bit of loose fringe from her forehead, sitting back against the side of the chest in such a way that she leaned against his shoulder again. "I wasn't prepared for you to negotiate with me the way that you did. I saw the way you nearly jumped in after him, there was no fear in your face at all, and no way for you to win against that creature." 

"Why fear the unknown? People die of illness all the time. Sudden ailments of the heart and for what? There is no honor in falling that way, it serves no purpose to any God or man not to die in battle, fighting for something." His fingers that still held her wrist so gently slipped from her arm to rest in his lap, as though he noticed the affectionate touch too late. 

"Ailment of the heart means great suffering, or perhaps a life of great heartache." She frowned, studying the way her fingers nervously entwined in the ends of the long length of her golden hair. 

"Is that what you fear Shield Maiden?" Kjaran leaned into her as well the more she leaned into his shoulder, providing a comforting warmth as the nights at sea were still chilled. She ignored the dashing quirk of his lip however, the shift of his pale hair on his shoulder when he turned his face toward her. He was close enough now that she could see the tonal facets of his eyes, the light scaring on his face, and she learned rather quickly that there was more than one shade of silver in his strange pale hair. "I would tell you that it's only a ship, that they can be rebuilt, but that sadness you wear on your brow says it was much more. I'll ask again that you tell me." 

"You had a Son once, didn't you?" 

"I don't think a ship is a fair comparison..." 

"No... just answer the question." 

He sighed deeply, pausing before she felt him shake his head slowly. "Yes." 

"I... don't think that I am able to bear children. It has been six years since I was promised to Asger... six years we've tried and it's only turned him into someone I do not love." Her hands shook in her lap, fingers entwining on themselves in attempts to hide it. She'd never spoken these things aloud before, she didn't have to the way whispers floated between the timber homes of her settlement. People spoke rumors about girls letting him into their beds, it wouldn't be hard for a man as beautiful as he was to earn their attention. They pointed quiet, accusing fingers both ways in accusation of their infertility, while she and Asger were perhaps not quiet enough about their own shortcomings.

"You said that he fucks half the settlement, and no girl has grown with child. I think the problem is quite obvious." 

"Well I've not enjoyed the attention of any other man so I suppose it would be difficult to tell, but that's not the point." She cleared her throat lightly, palms growing sweaty she wiped them nervously on her trousers. "I prayed not to Frigg or Sif... but to Freyja for a sign. Anything to place me on the path she had intended for me in this life... and news of your fleets came like snow on the wind." 

"That could be interpreted many ways." He peered down at her again, her breath catching when she lifted her chin to respond, lips parted in wordless surprise at how close he was. "It may have been a sign of danger." 

"In many ways, I see that now." She muttered distractedly eye level with his lips. “But I saw it as an opportunity, some gateway to freedom that kept me justified in my decision to leave him. I still had the raids, the trade routes, fishing errands, I didn’t need a husband to be whole. Only empty hopes to fill my home with children and build a legacy worth leaving. Even so, my ship was everything, my gateway to a freedom I'll never know again." 

"Not set in your decision to steal mine?" He mused, but it did nothing to entertain her. Something about it set her on edge, felt comforting and wrong all at once. 

"You were angry enough with me to know that it's never the same. Your ship is yours, an extension of yourself." Milena found herself yawning, head drifting to the soft fur lining of the cloak that draped his shoulder. 

"To be fair, your ship was rather worn." Lifting her head only long enough to glare at him, she plopped her head back to his shoulder and pouted, ignoring the deep chuckle that rumbled amusement in his throat. "If price and material were of no object, how would you rebuild her?" 

"Hmmm, I would want two cats carved on each side of the bow.. fronted by an idol of Freyja of course, with gold laced in her hair. It would be such a grand longship, sails adorning Sefi's emblem. It would be the strongest, with room for an army, lined with shields and plenty of storage." Flushing she glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gazed up at the waning Moon above them. 

"A vessel only fit for a Daughter of Freyja." He spoke softly, almost wistful in tone. Milena's eyes grew heavy, her body still reeling from the toll of the beast's attack. Kjaran was warm, comfortable and she fit in the crook of his shoulder so well. Warmth enveloped her, she felt safe as she drifted off into the soft realms of slumber by the grace of the rocking ship, the melodic shifting of the waves against the few rowers still at their post.

In what felt like no time at all, Milena woke to her world shifting uncomfortably with a very male sounding groan. She attempted to bury her face into the warmth of whatever she rested her head upon and gathered the draped blanket around her, frustrated that it was snagged or attached to something. Trying to sit up to adjust herself, Milena found herself under the heavy arm of Kjaran, cloak draped over her for warmth and she'd all but buried herself into his chest. Again, he was imposingly tall for the average man she'd known, broad and powerful in ways she hadn't been able to appreciate until now. She knew he was awake, he'd given himself away by the quirk of his lips and his pale eyes opened slightly, shifting to greet her disheveled form. 

"I didn't have the heart to wake you." His voice was groggy and heavy with sleep, the Sun just barely peeking over the watery horizon. It was beautiful, one of her favorite things of being at sea was to watch the Sun rise, and the Moon sink into the water. 

"I wouldn’t have had the strength to move if I wanted to." Her smile was sheepish, and she attempted, probably to no avail to tame some of the hair that came loose from her braids, certain she was a salty mess still stained by ink and blood. "I apologize, I shouldn't have been so careless..." 

"Milena..." Her lips parted to speak, yet she felt as though she'd used all of her words the previous night. His calloused fingers grazed her cheek, thumb lingering to trace her chin just below her bottom lip. Milena froze, breath catching at the sound of her name, breathy on his voice like the beckoning sound of the waves crashing against the shores of her home. Kjaran's eyes spoke many things to her without words, the way his eyes roved the details of her face, soft and laced with a forbidden longing, thirstily drinking her in. 

She found herself leaning into him, fingers tensing into the linen shirt he wore beneath the cloak he'd wrapped her in, slowly closing the gap between them until their noses brushed. His eyes held her captive, breath warm against her lips, and Milena felt a longing she hadn't ever felt before, potent enough to make everything else cease to matter. Subconsciously she wet her lips, leaning further forward as his eyes drifted closed.

"Are we fucking there yet? I'm due for a good shit and proper bath..." Jǫðurr grumbled, stumbling sleepily over the deck to take a piss over the side. Somehow, she untangled herself from Kjaran and his long cape, nearly falling over without much grace herself from her sore muscles. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, and Jǫðurr paused his morning routine, blue eyes dancing between them amusedly while Kjaran stood, gracefully stretching his arms above his head to work out the kinks in his muscles. The Jarl glared at Jǫðurr, daring him with his eyes to say another word as though that would have made any bit of difference. "Well I certainly missed something." 

Milena rolled her eyes, brushing passed the handsome Boatsmith with a shaky sigh to check on Zephyr and see where she might be able to help with breakfast. Anything to catch her breath from the kiss that didn't happen. She supposed she should be grateful to Jǫðurr for once for stopping things before her lips could connect with his, though she was no less rattled from it. 

"The only thing you missed was your rowing shift. Get to it." Kjaran bit from behind her, irritable himself from the kissing noises Jǫðurr teased him with. 

She sighed as she began to redress the bandage on Zephyr's head, telling herself that she'd missed it too. That she wasn't aware of the longing in his eyes, the wanting part of his lips when he leaned in to whisper to her. Milena forced herself to be angry, because she refused to believe that Freyja would place her on this path. Not one where she longed to know the lips of another man.

Most of the sick or injured from the Kraken encounter pulled through, two more died that they knew of on other ships, but Milena was grateful for the eagerness of those on Kjaran's vessel to get back to their posts. She hummed lightly, alone with Zephyr under the awning of the ship with a dampened rag to continue cleaning bits of sweat, blood, and ink from his pale skin and brassy hair. They were running low on clean water, she might have been concerned if they weren't but a day away from the hot springs so well hidden from others.

Zephyr's green eyes fluttered open sometime near sunset, groaning in discomfort as he glanced around him no doubt assessing his surroundings. 

"Shhhhh...." She calmed him with a gentle hand at his chest when he tried to sit up, and he gazed at her fearfully a moment before he realized which ship they sailed on, likely based on the rich sturdy pine this warship was crafted from. "Are you in any pain?" 

"What in Hel do you think?" He groaned again, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. She tried not to take offense to his biting tone after all, last he remembered was being her prisoner. "Did Kjaran make it? Who is left?" 

"Kjaran leads our fleets forward. Your friends are safe." She assured softly and shifted to stand, "Do not move, I'll get Jarl Kjaran for you and some water. Food if you think you can eat." 

"Are you not our prisoner now?" Milena smiled then, shaking her head at his raised brow and Zephyr propped up on his elbows to stare at her with a pained wince. She knew the smile she offered was weak, maybe weaker still than the others she'd given since the loss of her ship. 

"The tides have not shifted, there is just an understanding where there wasn't before. We still wait my Jarl's words, and my Shield Maiden has Nefir with her on another ship. Your Jarl just isn't a fool to think less of our stance. For now, it doesn't matter who is prisoner to whom. We fought a Kraken and lived, and from what I know that's never happened." 

"I'd like that water now..." He spoke a bit gentler and lay back down, resting an arm over his eyes with care to avoid his bandage. 

She hadn't really spoken to Kjaran much since the prior morning, and he had spent most of his day rowing. Sweat slicked his tanned skin, his linen shirt left open for air and his long hair pulled back into an array of braids piled higher on his head away from his neck. Milena could feel his eyes on her, watching as she dipped low into their waning water supply to fill a cup before she approached him. 

"Zephyr is awake, I'm not sure his fever has passed but he speaks well enough that I think the worst is over for him." Kjaran halted mid row and stood, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. She bit her lip, attempting not to fall into too obvious of appreciation for his tall frame riddled by the muscle of a very hard working man. "He asks for you, if you'd like to take some water to him, I'll see to rowing this position." 

"Thank you," His brows knitted, slowly taking the cup of water from her. It was rather obvious the way his fingers brushed hers, eyes holding her until he was forced to turn and head back to the awning. 

* * *

"Sounds like the Gods weren't ready to claim you just yet." Kjaran remarked with a snide smirk, handing the injured man water while he kneeled on the deck beside him. "Either that or Hel herself spat you back into Midgard." 

"Humor doesn't suit you." Zephyr grumbled, trying his best to drink the water slowly, regardless of how stale it had turned. "Why isn't that witch tied to the mast?" 

"Because she saved you, you fool." Zephyr choked a little, eyeing Kjaran with distaste on his lip. "She nearly died to save you, and I have it on good authority that she would have. She lost her ship after all." 

"The way you say that I'd be a bigger fool to think you hadn't grown feelings for her. Please tell me you haven't." Kjaran frowned and leaned forward, lifting the bandage to assess the gash in Zephyr's forehead, the bruising around it angry but turning yellow around the edges. 

"An honorable man covets no man's wife. Even if she's foolishly brave, strong, and has enough power to stun a Kraken..." 

"She stunned the Kraken?" Zephyr interrupted, sitting up in efforts to stretch his cramped back, pausing at Kjaran's affirming nod. "You've fallen for her." 

"There is no place or time for feelings, real or otherwise. They outnumber us now, we took immense losses in that attack, so it is increasingly more important that I speak with her Jarl. I would be a fool to get sentimental, though she did save you and spent most of her time caring for you since." 

"I'd feel honored if I didn't think this was a bad idea." Zephyr drank the water quickly, despite the aged flavor, and clearly ached for more, but resigned to observing Kjaran as he grew more serious. 

"Put forth some faith. You Westerners seem to think everything is a bad idea." His brow raised and he clapped a friendly hand to Zephyr's shoulder. "You're still among the living, no longer tied to some pole. Take the victories as they come. Can you eat, or will you rest some more?" 

"I'll rest more I think." Zephyr frowned and stared blankly out through the opening to the awning at the back of Milena's head. She rowed with spirit, and even dirty as they all were from the Kraken's ink, there was just something radiant about the girl. 

Kjaran couldn't help but notice her sorrow. She barely ate or drank, those songs she used to sing while they sailed were no longer sung, and there was a hollow emptiness about her. He tried to sympathize, mostly keeping his distance since all he could think about was waking up that morning with her in his arms. He was a guilty man at this point, being a man of law himself he understood to some extent the pressure she felt, the trials she'd face. It took some prying but she'd bared her soul to him, became real and vulnerable. Guiltier still when he'd caved to the irresistible urge to kiss her. He supposed he should have thanked Jǫðurr for the interruption but thought better than to speak any further about it. 

Settling down by Zephyr beneath the awning, Kjaran thought he’d rest just a moment, close his eyes before he’d go back to rowing. He hadn’t properly slept since that night, what with the lack of rowers and it caught up to him rather quickly, because the next thing he knew, he was dreaming of her.


	5. Prayers for an Eternal Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* NSFW- This chapter is smutty. Very smutty. Read at your own risk (or enjoyment!)

"We're here!" Milena called out, hanging dangerously far over the side of the ship. She pointed toward a small mountain range surrounded by thick forest and rimmed by sparse and unassuming beaches. Cries of joy rang out from the Shield Maidens while Kjaran exchanged a perplexed look with Zephyr and a few of his other men. Jǫðurr stared at the land as if in some sort of trance, brows furrowed and recognition flickering behind his deep blue eyes.

"Are you ill?" Kjaran inquired, snapping the young boatsmith from his fascination with a sobering shake of his head. 

"Just ready to be on solid ground." He muttered flatly, and moved to help row, leaving Kjaran more confused. It made sense, but he'd expected some crude exchange of words, and when he turned toward Zephyr inquisitively he only shrugged tiredly in response, still weakened from his near encounter with an early grave. 

The Sun was high when they finally made it to the shore and Kjaran remained impressed by how hidden the fleet was kept.  Knowing the land well, Milena quickly found the river that ran through it; a wonderful place to hide many ships . Smaller boats were loaded with light supplies and carried onto the shore to be hidden in thick brush, while the rest of them dropped anchor, and tied the warships together in a tight formation. 

With surprising eagerness, what was left of Milena's crew began unloading what would be needed, and offered detailed instruction to those well enough to help but less familiar with the land. Jǫðurr practically carried Zephyr from the ship on his shoulder, both pairs of eyes scouring the bustling beach for Nefir to learn more detail about what in Hel happened on that Knarr. No doubt he would have a great story of Thor's wrath to tell around their fire that night, as he was the only mortal man to accomplish such a feat over a creature clearly not of their realm. 

Kjaran finally set foot onto the rocky shore, a heavy feeling settling into his body after being adrift for so long. He paused to observe the people of their mixed clans working together, engaged in happy reunions or documenting their dead. His eyes drifted along the very lush treeline, failing to see any safe houses or hot springs as Milena had promised. As he turned on his heel to seek her out, the woman in question ran passed him with a smile on her face that could have illuminated the beach had the Sun not been telling of a mid-day. Too long had he gone without seeing her joy, a genuine sort that didn't come from motivating her crew forward, and it was without a doubt the most beautiful thing he'd seen in days. 

"Mag!" She cried out, laughing as she tackled the much taller Shield Maiden into the surf in a pile of splashing limbs. He watched as they laughed, embraced, and perhaps cried in the other's arms with sweet reunion. 

"You may want to rid yourself of that look in your eyes before she sees that you have love for her." He blinked, turning to see Nefir approach with a wide and naturally confident grin. 

"And you owe me an explanation of what the fuck happened back there." Kjaran ignored the jab, elation from seeing his friend safe reading in his eyes as they embraced with joyful laughter. 

"Over ale! Which I'm told there is plenty stocked here. All goes well, tonight we'll feast!" Nefir pulled back, large, rough hands on Kjaran’s shoulders with a wide toothy grin and sparkling brown eyes. 

"Yes, many have fallen and we owe them our thanks." Zephyr added weakly from behind, leaning on Jǫðurr's shoulder. 

"Well I'm hungry enough to eat the goat, let's get unloaded and figure out where the heck these supposed hot springs are." Jǫðurr quipped, peering around the two much taller men in search of their destination.

"Agreed, you smell like the goat's ass and I'm tired of hearing your complaints." Kjaran rolled his eyes skyward, for all the love he held for these men, after so long on a ship he was sometimes ready to pummel them.

"You wouldn't know what the goat's ass smelled like if you'd quit fucking it." As uplifting as the laughter was, Kjaran pushed Jǫðurr toward the boats with a bated sigh so the four of them could help expedite the promise of meat, ale, and of course a bath. 

* * *

"He would make a strong husband." Milena nudged Mag playfully as the two sat in the surf a moment, watching the others secure the boats and begin to unload and take stock of their supplies. She eyed Nefir with a gleam in her eye, appraising the uncustomary girlish flush on Mag's cheeks. "You lay with him, didn't you?!" 

"Keep your voice low..." 

"I knew it! I can always tell." Milena boasted, leaning on the shoulder of her sister in arms. "I'm only glad you are safe. I thought you were lost to me." 

"You know I hold the storm's favor, I was wiped out for a few days after but otherwise unscathed. I am not willing to reach Valhalla until I have a Son."  Magnhildr smiled dreamily, the muttered wish something she had never shared out loud before. She nudged Milena's shoulder when she saw that her sister didn't hold as much joy in her face . "Are you holding well enough Millie?" 

"I should at least help take stock of things with Zephyr. Will you begin your hunt now?" Milena stood, brushing some of the sand from her dampened trousers and offered a hand to help Magnhildr to her feet. The auburn haired Maiden gave her a scolding glance for brushing off her blatant concern, though she should have been used to Milena’s deflections by now, as well as the way she ignored the worry in her friend’s viridescent eyes. It was clear that she wasn't holding on to anything. It had long slipped between her fingers. 

"The sun is high, it's a good idea if I'm meant to find enough to feed the lot of us. Can you spare two Maidens? I'll need help." Milena nodded, the two walking toward bustling ships and a small beach full of supplies with Mag’s arm draped over her shoulder. Some argued no doubt about who would take the first guard shift over their fleet, playing games while they worked to decide. 

"Of course, whatever you need, but if you're not back by sundown I'm coming to look for you." Mag nodded, whistling loudly to wave down two of their finest huntresses. They armed themselves, and with a friendly kiss to Milena’s cheek, they disappeared into the thick brush with a sort of glee she hadn’t witnessed in a few days. Milena smiled to herself, pleased the location was just right to lift their spirits after so much tragic loss. It was almost like coming home.

The trails were grown over and hidden, the forest grown thick and full of song from the birds above them. Milena lead the way, flanked closely by Kjaran and Nefir who carried some of the bulkier supplies with surprising ease while Jǫðurr continued to help Zephyr along. The small village Sefi’s family built eons ago was about two hours from the shore, left vacant during the off seasons, but a favorite place to gather for ceremony, the rare holiday, or extended fishing trips. 

It consisted of safe houses built into the turf of the mountainside, kept cool in the summer and warm in the winter if someone got stranded, along with a vast area for fire pits, and places to raise tents. Gasps of awe sounded behind her from the men, giggles and gleeful sounds came from the women who quickly began to disburse so they could unload supplies and set up tents. Some prepared fires, and others ran toward the springs right away spilling life and happiness into the usually abandoned little hideaway. This place held magic for her since she and Sefi played here during sacrificial ceremonies and joyful holidays with Mag, and Atla, and even Ragna on the rare occasion they could get her to leave. 

"We don't have places like this in the North." Kjaran spoke casually, the two of them acknowledging each other for the first time in a day or more. Turning, she peered up at him, watching him take in the camp with fascination in his silver-blue eyes. "I thought you said there are hot springs?" 

"There are. That pathway leads to them through the mountains." Milena gestured with a free hand while she lugged a heavy trunk toward one of the turf houses. "The Safe Houses are reserved for those of status. You and your men are welcome to one of them, and I'm sure Mag will take one and the others are game for whoever claims them first." 

"Nefir will likely prefer to sleep outside by the fires to tell his stories, but I will gladly keep a house for my men just in case. You have my thanks." 

"Well, there is ale stockpiled in most of them that will be strong with age. I suggest you drink in moderation." She rolled her eyes when Kjaran laughed at this and pushed her way into the nicest of the turf homes where she used to stay with Sefi's family, while Kjaran took the one next to hers. It was beautiful for what it was, in need of air, of course, but the bed would be comfortable, the table still sturdy, and the fireplace ready for use. 

Dust lifted to the air when she plopped on the bed, knowing sleep would not come easy with so much on her mind, and she leaned back on her hands to close her eyes and listen to the first deafening silence she’d heard in weeks. Milena would spend her night in prayer, reaching for forgiveness that she’d so horribly misinterpreted Freyja’s signals. Asger had even asked her to stay, and she didn’t listen. Too eager to believe she was right to think perhaps for once, she should have listened to her husband like a proper wife. It flavored her mouth with bitterness. She’d never been good at listening to him, she was her own person and with rumors of his indiscretions, the thought that she’d even consider starting now infuriated her, and all she could think about when she thought of Asger was divorce. 

A sharp rapping against the door she’d left open to air out the small house interrupted the thick silence and jarred her from her solitude. Milena was surprised to find that it was Kjaran to take up much of the doorframe, peeking inside with the slightest bit of amusement on his lips. It seemed he was not impervious to the enchantment of his surroundings. She flushed with a note of how lively he looked, almost as if merely stepping foot in such a restful sanctuary had turned him into a younger man.

“It appears my men have abandoned me to raid the ale. I for one was wondering if you’d show me the way to the springs.” She sighed, nodding with a small smile, grateful for the momentary distraction. It took no time for the settlement to come alive, merry men already drinking ale from dusty horns found in the houses, becoming drunk right away from enjoying the strong drink on an empty stomach. 

"I'm surprised you didn't join them." She remarked, leading Kjaran down a narrow path by the mountain that would lead into wide open forest. It had been overgrown when they first arrived, now trampled with recent use. 

"They left me little choice really, Zephyr is impatient and truthfully Jǫðurr is likely trying to entice one of your Maidens. He always was the wild one, too eager to enjoy a woman." 

"Well, I suppose I can show you the springs Sefi's family uses mostly. The springs are all in caverns within the mountain, said to have healing qualities of the body as well as spirit. Some are more private than others, but I go there for quiet, and you seem like a man who enjoys quiet." 

"Certainly, but you seem like one to be surrounded by others. Well... so it seemed before-" 

"We don't need to discuss the matter of my ship Jarl. It is gone and it's not the only thing that happened. We survived a Kraken, in case you forgot." Milena stomped ahead of him down the path, following a familiar busy stream. 

"I don't recall mentioning your ship, though it does seem to be all you want to discuss." 

"Quiet!" She hushed, her face wrinkling as something foul permeated the air, something more than just the scent of a dead animal carcass and her stomach dropped. She halted her movements to listen, eyes darting around nervously to locate the source before it was too late. Kjaran only barreled through the overgrown trail with heavy footfalls like a stubborn oaf.

"As I recall it, you're the one that keeps agonizing over it. Why do you choose to antagonize me so, and  _ what is that smell _ !?" He finally paused, staring at her quizzically while she flailed her hand in a rather poor attempt to silence him.

"Do not speak, do not move." She hissed behind her shoulder at him, finally able to hear the lazy shuffling of someone nearby. Kjaran tapped her shoulder silently, his other hand clamped over his mouth and nose and he pointed through the trees with wide, astonished blue eyes.

Following the line of his arm, she set her eyes on a gruesome sight, not terribly uncommon to the area but a rarity nonetheless. The thing was rotted, still adorning armor and maggot eaten leather, dragging its great ax listlessly behind it. The Sun glinted on a bit of bone peeking through greyed flesh and chattering teeth around its jaw, eyes wide and dead without eyelids to conceal them. The horrid thing paused, seeming to search around it as though it could sense their presence. 

Milena quickly pushed Kjaran toward the creek, shuffling to seek cover under a rock shrouded by roots of a great old tree where she and Sefi used to play. Her palms planted firmly against his chest, her heart pounding in her ears. If the thing heard them, she knew not even the rock that hid them from view would be able to stop it. The Draugr were known to be nearly unstoppable in their bloodthirsty wrath, but that only depended on the intent in which the undead hero had been brought back to some form of life. 

It took her a moment to realize that he embraced her, hands protectively at her back while they both listened in silence for any sort of noise to alert them to danger. Not that there would be any given warnings. Milena had heard of the Draugr, knowing that miles from their current location there was indeed a burial ground that might produce such creatures, but even she had never encountered one. Kjaran shifted slowly, peering around their hiding place to get a location on the thing despite her attempts to pull him back. 

"It's gone." He said plainly but with enough sense to remain hushed. "I had hoped at least some of the horrors told in stories from my childhood would remain false." 

"I told you," Milena hissed, her fingers still gripping at the cloak he wore to keep him in place, "You sailed into waters you don't understand. The lands Sefi's family have protected for years are seen as gateways. Any creature of Midgard is possible, horrible and beautiful." 

"I've already fallen victim to the most beautiful, the horrors are only secondary." The manner in which he spoke grabbed her attention, his arms becoming intimate when he pulled her close as she turned back to meet his eyes. What else did she have to lose? It was perhaps one of many reckless thoughts she'd had since that morning she woke up so warm in his arms where she felt so safe. A symptom of a broken heart and a lost soul that she’d be so foolish, but she blamed him for being so striking in beauty and passion. 

"Kjaran... I -" 

She screamed as Kjaran pushed her aside, as if the terrors of the deep weren't plenty to face, that horrible creature swam out of the rock as though it were water. Milena saw it's distorted face before she saw the blade it carried slice through the rock in an attempt to claim her head. The tip of the axe cut deep into her arm as she fell, blood trailing in hot rivers between her fingers in her errand to add pressure to the wound. 

* * *

Her pained cry evoked such immediate fury in Kjaran that his sword was in his hand before he could even blink. He hadn’t counted on the Draugr’s inhuman strength, however, unassuming for a thing of mostly bone and hanging muscle to strike with such limb splintering force. It growled ferally at him, accompanying his own strained roars while he tried to weave and dodge the expert swings of its axe. He tried to check on Milena, she’d screamed in pain hadn’t she? She was clearly crouched on the ground in the background, but the thing wouldn’t allow him a breath long enough to see that her injury wasn’t fatal. There was certainly a lot of blood.

Kjaran had fought the strongest of men but he was scarcely able to manage the smell, let alone the power behind the Draugr’s every strike, and surprisingly agile movements. Its blackened tongue wagged inapparent mockery of his shortened breath while he struggled to maintain his own footing while the mostly dead thing fought him relentlessly without wearing down. Kjaran refused to give in, not with Milena so present in the corner of his eye. He couldn’t fail her, and told himself to fight harder no matter how quickly his body began relenting to mortal fatigue. He had to ensure that Milena would be safe, and Kjaran prayed the Gods would give him strength. 

Iron chipped from his sword in a brutal perry. The muscles in his arms and shoulders burned and his hands threatened to lose their grip with the force of each blow. His heart pounded hard enough to burst in his chest, and his lungs were ablaze, causing his head to swim dangerously. One wrong move, one poorly timed thrust or block and it was over for him. Worst of all, it would be over for Milena. More iron chipped from his trusty blade with the next collision and Kjaran wondered how soon it would be before it shattered, or if he would be the one to shatter first. 

Seemingly from nowhere in the flurry of this encounter, a heavy rock thudded hard against the monster, fruitlessly falling to the ground. The Draugr kicked the rock aside as though it were a toy, and as it turned on Milena, an enraged roar rattled from what was left of the undead hero’s throat. It’s lidless eyes wild and fixed on her with animalistic rage, seeming to forget Kjaran’s very presence for a much easier target. 

“Foolish fucking twit!” He growled, positively furious by her idiocy. What was she thinking? Milena was unarmed, and he could now see the streams of blood dripping from her fingertips from a deep wound in her arm while she glared the creature without fear. His sword sliced at the Draugr’s back, but the undead hero did not change its target, and Kjaran began to panic now, his heart likely to burst if he couldn’t sway the creature away from her. It swung, and Milena managed to barely escape the sharpened blade. 

Kjaran roared, banged his sword against the rock that had been kicked aside, but the Draugr wouldn’t be swayed by his commotion, being fixed on the easier of two targets. Anger turned to desperation when his sword did so little damage to the creature, clenching his jaw to the point of nearly breaking his teeth with blind rage. It pierced where the thing’s heart should have been, slicing at the back of its heels and ribs, but nothing would stop it. Finally, the Draugr swung at him in irritation, the back of its boney hand knocking the wind from his lungs and Kjaran found himself on his ass, thrown several feet away. 

His vision blurred with unwanted tears as fire poured into his lungs with a forced inhale, he blinked them away. Coughing and sputtering he began to crawl, reaching for his sword. Helpless, he felt helpless and weighted down, forced to watch while it followed her while she scrambled, injured and encumbered by pain. Kjaran’s entire body revolted, fingers flimsily gripping the hilt of his sword, using the blade to help him to his feet. He had to get to her. Milena wavered and fell in an attempt to get away, growling in pain and seeming to accept her fate. 

“No…” He sputtered breathily, feeling the world tilting around him in ways unrelated to the lack of air in his lungs. Kjaran staggered forward, pale eyes fixed on her fearless face while the Draugr prepared his blade to claim her life. And what point would there be then? 

The question rang through his mind, his heart, and his throat bubbled with rage, teeth bared as he forced his way forward. This journey. The Sirens. The Kraken. There would be no point in completing this mission, this journey, if Milena wasn’t by his side. To not hear her joyous song, feel the warmth of her smiles and the heat of her eyes, the illuminating grace of her playful antics, and even not suffering her relentless wit would be the death of a Goddess. Who would subject them to her furious, wrath then? The axe began to swing, and oh Gods how could his path become so clear, and his heart so certain in this very moment?

‘There’s no tomorrow without her.’ He thought to himself, somehow propelled forward like his whole world boiled down to the point of his blade. Full of purpose and rash bravery, Kjaran’s livid growl echoed through the trees, burning wild in his pale eyes as he brought the sword down at the Draugr’s elbows. It was her, it had always been her to bring him to this place, this moment where his purpose was clear and there was no one else. No one else. 

There was a victorious snapping sound as iron sliced through bone and shriveled flesh. It howled, shrieked horribly and Kjaran noticed a putrid smoke lifting to the air from its stumps that began oozing a sick smelling blackened goo. His heart was so clear when he noticed fear in her face for the first time, and Milena pointed at the creature frantically. 

"Its head! Quickly!" Kjaran’s eyes shifted back to the creature, it’s bugging blue eyes fixed on her to attack one more time but he swung again without mercy to claim the Draugr’s head. It fell to the ground with two dull thuds on the grass near the creek, Sun shining through the trees as though nothing ever happened. They both stared at the horrid creature a moment, trying to catch their breaths. "Did you know him?" 

“No. You?” He inquired, not able to tear his eyes from the putrid sight, watching the creature’s blackened blood pool on the forest floor around it. Kjaran couldn’t help but think of life and death as he looked at the huddled mass of a now very rotted corpse. His throat tightened at the thought of almost watching Milena die. How his heart seized and tomorrow ceased to matter. She wasn’t his to have, and yet by the Gods his heart was hers. 

Kjaran didn’t hear her confirm she didn’t know the Draugr in life with his heart singing truthful absolutions into his ears. It was just a hostile specter, he didn’t care. Nothing mattered more at that moment than Milena breathing his air. He threw his sword carelessly to the ground, rushing toward her in a few long strides, pulling her violently to his chest, thrusting his fingers into her rich golden hair at the nape to pull her lips to his own. 

It was a reckless move, but her lips moved hungrily with his as though she shared in his desperation, warm and insistent. Her fingers curled into the fur lining of his cloak to pull him deeper with the smallest of satisfied sounds, seeking to drown him with the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins. It was when the kiss became gentler, and mindlessly, his hand trailed down over her injured arm, parting her lips in a pained gasp that had Milena pushing him away. 

"You're injured." He daftly observed, still attempting to catch his own breath.

"You're a fool." She spat, trying to correct her own breathing enough to think properly. Her hand closed over the gash again as if she tried to worsen the pain of it so she didn't just rush back into his arms. "Why did you do that?" 

"We almost just died, I wouldn't want to leave any regrets behind." Kjaran shifted slowly, bending to pick up his fallen weapon, sheathing the grime covered blade to be cleaned later. Feigning that he’d caught his breath, or remained unaffected by her more than eager response to his stupidity. "Are you alright?" 

"Idiot!" She vocalized again with more bite to her tone. Her lips parted as if she wanted to call him every horrible thing she could think of, and nothing came but a tired sigh. The Sun was starting to grow lower and Milena was probably in a great deal of pain, and he felt thirstier than he’d ever been in his life. "We should get back, I'm sure there will be a celebration and you should see to it that this thing’s head is burned."

"I feel no remorse." Kjaran remarked, bending to pick the severed head up by the creature's stringy blonde hair. His lips tugged downward, trying to steel himself from the horrid smell, the oily feel of it, heavy in his grasp.

"I thank you for saving my life. My silence for that indiscretion is your reward." With that, Milena turned on her heel, heading back down the path toward camp without waiting for him. He watched her a moment before he followed, breathing a sigh of selfish relief that she was alive to be angry with him at all. They never did make it to the hot springs but with the path ahead of them marked clearly, Kjaran assumed that they wouldn’t be so difficult to locate. 

Kjaran let her walk ahead of him, his lips left tingling, and heart beating with more life than he’d ever known, and it had little to do with the putrid severed head gripped heavily in one of his fists. She took a sluggish gait, hand pressed over her wounded arm, and tensing at any movement or sound from any bird or animal. He remained on his guard as well, because as he watched the shadows dance over the golden plaits of her hair, it dawned on him how close he’d come to watching her die. Such an unbearable notion it became that he even felt his throat tighten from the thought alone. His fingers gripped the pale hair of the grotesque head in his fist, still fighting his stomach from revolting against the smell, and the idea of losing Milena. 

She slinked off toward her borrowed safe house when they entered the campgrounds, and Kjaran watched after her a moment before stalking up to Jǫðurr who flapped his gums loudly with two Maidens, jabbing him hard on the shoulder to get his attention. 

“I need you to burn this.” He stated simply, thrusting the thing toward Jǫðurr, who promptly spit the ale out of his mouth. The stench alone was enough to send the Maidens running off to spread the news, as they clearly recognized the thing for what it was. 

“Why me!?” Kjaran finally forced the thing into Jǫðurr’s hand, while the poor boatsmith paled a few shades and held the thing away from him by the hair. “Is that a fucking Draugr?! Where have you taken us, you unhinged moron?!” 

“You’ll watch how you speak to your Jarl.” Kjaran frowned with an authoritative fold of his arms. By now, half the camp stared in awe at the news that the Northern Jarl had slain one of the undead. “I would see to it myself but Milena is hurt, and stubborn. I should help her care for her injury. Have Nefir do it if you’re going to be such a coward.” 

“Yes, yes, tend to your desires,” Absently, Jǫðurr waved off with the hand that still held a horn of ale, splashing the potent drink on the ground with the motion. “I’ll destroy the putrid thing you foolish ass.” His brow lifted just in time for the thing’s blackened tongue to slip from the open jaw and slop noisily on the ground beside them. “Though we’re going to expect the story, _ Jarl _ , Draugr aren’t meant to be so easy to kill.” 

At this the blonde spun on his heel and scurried off, tossing his ale aside so he could pinch his nose closed to keep the stench at bay. One roll of his eyes later, Kjaran ignored the questioning eyes of the gathering crowd and headed toward Mag, who was busy roasting a boar over one of the fires, and a few young deer over another. She glanced up long enough to watch him pour a horn of ale and wash down his harried nerves, only to pour another. 

“Might want to slow your thirst Jarl. This ale will knock you right on your ass.” She wasn’t kidding, it was smooth but it burned all at once and made Kjaran’s eyes water, refraining from his initial intent to drink the other down as well. 

“This one is not mine, Milena is hurt. Can you or one of your Maidens gather herbs for that medicine I’ve seen you use?” She nodded, dropping what she was doing to whistle toward some of her own to have them gather what she needed before turning back with worry on her mouth to address him.

“Is she alright?” 

“She’ll be fine I think, I’ll see to her if you’ll hurry.” Mag seemed dumbfounded a moment, green eyes wide, but she nodded warily. Kjaran didn’t wait for another response, uncaring that she didn’t trust him. He had far more important matters to worry about. 

“Are you well?” He called out, rapping on the wooden door patiently for her impatient response. 

“I am fine. Has Mag returned from the hunt?” 

“Yes, but she is preparing a feast. May I come in?” 

“Why?”

Kjaran growled low in his throat now, beginning to lose his own very solid patience. “Stop being thickheaded, I’m coming in.” 

She was perched on a stool by an old traditional wash bin, half of her shirt removed exposing an arm and shoulder when he barged through the door. Thankfully she remained covered, he noted with a dry throat as he stepped further into the room in observation of how the blood that trickled down her arm gleamed in the firelight. 

“I am fine.” Milena urged again, glaring up at him while he cleaned his hands. She couldn’t fool him, the way her voice strained around an obvious pain. 

“Yes well, we’ll need to clean and close that so it doesn’t get angry and you lose the whole arm. Nothing about that creature was clean.” Kjaran frowned, kneeling beside her to place pressure on the gash with one of the many linen bandages she’d prepared at her feet. An iron poker already rested hot on the coals in the hearth, and when he dared to glance back at her, she met him with a frown. “Before you argue with me, I’ll remind you that you trusted me.” 

“I…” Milena sighed, and deflated, then winced when Kjaran met the wound with soap and water in attempts to clean the blood from her skin so he could assess the damage. It wasn’t until she hissed and whined a bit, face pinched with the pain when he poured some of the ale over the gash that he felt sorry, but the wound was deeper than he originally thought. 

“Hold this.” He took another piece of linen and laid it over the injury. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he placed her hand over the cloth, resting his palm over her hand. She watched with attentive blue eyes as he removed the leather belt from his hips and doubt tensed at her lips. 

“You do know what you are doing, don’t you?” A rare placed smile meant to comfort tugged at his lips, and he found himself very briefly cupping her cheek before clearing his throat, and regaining his own propriety. 

“Magnhildr is having herbs gathered to make that medicine you like. The wound is almost to the bone, but it is not the first I’ve treated.” He handed her the remaining ale left in the horn in suggestion for her to drink, and for once she did not argue. Milena nodded with trust, quickly drinking the ale and he paused to watch a bit trickle from the side of her mouth and down her chin. Clearing his throat to keep himself on task, Kjaran brought the thick leather strap of his belt toward her lips. “You’ll want to bite down on this.” 

Her chest heaved with a deep sigh and Milena complied by clamping her teeth down on the leather strap, keeping her breathing deep and even. He’d been through this himself more than he’d wish on his worst enemy, and immediately sympathized as he pulled the hot poker from the fire. 

“Try not to move.” He soothed, taking her hand in his to extend her arm, wrapping her fingers around another chair to keep the appendage straight. “Grip this tight, bite the leather, and again, try to hold still.” 

Milena nodded, continuing her deep breaths while Kjaran steadied her arm in his palm, noting that she refused to look at the poker, and chose to focus solely on his face. Aside from the smell, the worst part for him was the sound of flesh sizzling against metal as he introduced the cauterizing heat to her wound. 

Her body and arm shook, and Milena shrieked around the leather she clamped her teeth on as Kjaran very carefully placed the hot iron against the wound in a manner that would minimize scarring. He counted to three in his head and lifted. Her breathing became more ragged, and despite her need to catch her breath, she nodded for Kjaran to continue. 

She screamed and screamed with each brief press of the iron, sweat pouring from her brow while she struggled to breath against the breath stealing pain. By the third and final press of the iron, Kjaran watched her eyes roll and she fell limp against him. With care, he held her with one hand and slipped the iron rod back into the coals. Lifting her like a bride, he went to move her to the bed just as Mag barrelled through the door, still mixing that green salve with a small bowl and mortar. 

Mag pushed him aside once he had Milena settled so she could apply the salve to the thin burn and properly dress the injury. Kjaran however, took a cool damp cloth and stepped to the opposite side of the bed to wipe the sweat that still beaded on her brow. 

“Nicely done.” Mag complimented quietly, checking his work. 

“I have had to treat many wounds, it’s nothing.” 

“Considering that she’s held you captive?” Kjaran cleared his throat and shifted his weight. If only she knew just how captive Milena had kept him. 

“I owe her a debt.” He replied coldly, gazing down at Milena’s troubled, and achingly beautiful face. 

“Saving her life didn’t suffice?” His lips tensed, raising his eyes to meet Mag’s very knowing emerald greens.

“Regardless of what my reputation suggests, I am not a cruel man.” 

“Nor a caring one.” She shot back protectively. “Your intentions reek to me, seeking to harm my people, and I don’t know what has swayed your intent but Milena is spoken for.” 

“She is lucky to have such a sister in arms to care for her.” He chuckled in his throat and abandoned the rag back into the wash bin. “Intentions change like the tide, and my intentions are to protect people of my own. After everything, I had hoped to call your people mine as well. I think that is fair.” 

Mag sighed at the sincerity of his otherwise stern tone, and Kjaran watched her face shift lovingly down at her friend. He took a moment to step toward the door, eager to rejoin his men and perhaps get this storytelling over with so Nefir could indulge them with his arguably more surreal tale. But the tall Shield Maiden joined his side and smiled up at him in a friendly manner he’d only ever seen her offer her peers. 

“The feast should be ready, we’ll let Millie rest now, but I do want to hear about the Draugr. You owe us a story, and you’d better make it good. I have one that might shake the Halls of Asgard, and entertain Odin tonight should his ravens deliver it to his ears.” 

He was pulled along toward the crowd of their mingling clans who all lifted horns of ale to them in their approach. Dusk had begun to settle, and the air was fragrant with seasoned meat and Kjaran realized how hungry he was, and how much more like home this began to feel. He was no great liar or storyteller, so when he settled down with ale and meat to repeat the great battle against an undead Northmen, Kjaran took great care to leave out the part where he had kissed her.

His stomach was full, and his head was light with the ale. The adrenaline of the day had long worn off with the rather pitiful retelling of the Draugr’s demise and a slight drunkenness that forced his usually tense demeanor into a more relaxed one. Most of their crews were drunk, some sang around fires and danced to the beating of drums, others fucked under tents, told stories rampant with mythos in their drunken stupors. Not that anyone could top Nefir’s rather passionate retelling of slaying the Kraken. By the time the Moon rose up toward the treetops, Kjaran decided it was long past time for a proper bath, sneaking off when he decided no one would miss him; he couldn’t remember when he was last truly alone. 

He craved some silence after the day, some peace and time to reflect on his rapidly slipping morale in regards to a very unhappily married woman. Milena was better than himself to abide by her marriage contract to this man called Asger, yet as he wandered along the familiar path toward the springs he couldn’t help but remember how eagerly she had returned his affections, however brief the encounter was. 

Once he learned the path with Milena earlier that day, the springs were easily located by following the mountainside, the creek, through a rocky passage where the earthy scented mist of hot water meeting cooler air greeted him through an opening full of wide open caverns. Absently, he turned a slab of soap in his hand while he wandered through the dark airways lit by strange luminescent substances casting a blueish light along the cavern walls. Sounds of those who stole away amongst the chaos of the celebration to bathe, or have sex in private echoed through hollow chambers. Veils of moonlight drifted in through cracks in the rock, allowing him the slightest vision so he wouldn’t fall into a pool, or worse, a crevice. 

Eventually, he daydreamed himself away from all of that, and into a large, more silent cavern deeper within the mountain. A large gap in the rock granted the view over a thick valley of forests, spilling moonlight into the cavern amongst the strange blue glow of the walls. The pool was larger and inviting, but regardless, Kjaran dipped his smallest finger in the milky green water to ensure the bath wouldn’t scald him. Satisfied, he began to unwind the braiding in his hair, eyeing a meager waterfall that might be cold, but better for washing. 

The air was cool against his skin as he peeled back layers of cloth and leather, abandoning his attire to the damp cavern floor until he was bared to the night. Washing was a brief affair, the water frigid but effective in allowing a thorough cleanse of his skin and hair, but no less unpleasant. It made the rather hot, cloudy green water of the hot spring all the more comforting as the heat hit his muscles and immediately began melting away the tension he always carried. Kjaran tied his damp hair back in a sleek knot while he waded through the layer of soft clay at the bottom to where he could gaze out at the night, and settle into deeper water to ponder his troubled heart.

Her beauty was never a secret. Any fool with eyes in his head could see that she was wild, but demure at the same time, erotic and sensual without trying, and as fierce as she was soft. For as petite as she was, Kjaran knew just how strong she could be, and what she lacked in strength she made up for with strange powers, and distraction. 

Her attire was often very fitted, keeping her waist cinched in leather to accentuate the plush fullness of her chest and wider curves of her hips, all while leaving bits of her skin bared to the elements. It was enough to drive most men rabid, and after a long stint at sea, Kjaran began thinking he was no better than them. Milena was infuriating on a good day, stubborn and foolish sometimes, and yet even in her most barbaric moments, she was kind and hospitable to his men, completely fearless. So it appeared on the surface at least, but he’d seen the more errant and vulnerable corners of her intricate mind, and knew she was troubled. 

“Well, I see you found your way.” As though she could hear his thoughts, the woman that plagued his noisy mind appeared. Her slightly husky voice snapped his eyes forward to greet her cloaked form, bathed in moonlight and shadow standing in the entrance to the cavern he’d been so careful to choose. “I guess I should have known by your absence at the celebration.” 

“My apologies, I’ll let you-” Before he could finish the sentence, or move an inch to leave to offer her privacy, she opened the cloak and let it fall onto the cavern floor with nothing left to cover her but the bandage on her arm. Even through the veil of night, he could make out the womanly curves of her hips, full breasts, and slender waist, perfection any man could easily mistake for some forbidden incarnation of Freyja herself. He might have chuckled in memory that it was easy to do regardless of her state of dress, but his breath left his body without any means of catching it. Kjaran swallowed hard, trying his best not to stare or show any semblance of admiration of her nakedness but his throat ran very, very dry. “I can go…”

“No need.” Milena replied simply, standing before him slowly unwinding the braids and ornamentation still adorning her golden hair, letting it fall in loose Goddess-like waves down to her ass. Bending to pick up the soap he’d used, she sauntered her way toward the meager waterfall to bathe as he had, revealing tattoos inked along her thigh. Kjaran wanted to say something, knowing very well he should have left, or at least averted his eyes, but he couldn’t. 

The cavern was large, but small enough that he’d catch her eye as she stepped under the frigid waterfall to wash. The feline smile on her lips was telling that she knew exactly what she was doing to him from the very moment she walked in. Her skin came alive under the bitter cold shower, and yet she appeared unphased as she ran soapy hands over the taut peaks of her pillowy soft breasts, a tight stomach marked with scars, and telling lines of muscle that shifted over her pale skin in the soft luminescence of the cavern. Those hands reached between her thighs, down long, toned legs that for as short as Milena was, seemed to go on forever. 

His thirsty tongue quenched his dry lips as she rinsed off, Kjaran only able to look away for a breath when she rang her hair out on the cavern floor. He felt like a boy the way he became so aroused by her rather blatant show that worked in far more ways than he was ready to admit. Not that he could deny it, her body was a beautiful mixture of milky but scarred skin, toned muscle from the labors of battle that mingled with a fleshy softness that made her curve and bend to any man’s desire, currently his own. Milena approached the hot spring with silent footfalls on the damp stone, sitting on the edge to dip her feet in before lowering slowly into the misty water with a moan Kjaran could only describe as amorous.

Thick silence, aside from the gentle lap of water against the rocks with her slow movements, filled the air and she stepped toward him until he could see the detail in her pearlescent blue eyes still faintly rimmed with kohl, and tones of gold in her damp hair. Kjaran knew she meant trouble, but that hadn't stopped him from an adventure before, and this one came in the form of a woman with more beauty than all of the seas combined, and twice as deep. She was an adventure he found he craved. Again, he thought he should speak, but she held him captive with her stare, an arresting quality in her eyes in her approach. She hugged the ledge of the pool, pale fingers against the black rock, the luminescent aspects of the caves filtering a soft blue light that made her look so much more ethereal.

"Leave it to you to find my favorite part of the springs. The perfect view of the valley, the sky, and during the day if you look carefully over the horizon you can see the sea." Her voice was distracted and wistful, far away as though her thoughts were elsewhere. 

"I was going to offer to leave." Kjaran responded flatly, ignoring a mild heat in his ears that had nothing to do with the very warm bath but perhaps the rather agitated state of his own body. 

"I didn't stop you." There was no amusement in her face but acute admiration in eyes that wandered over his face, his tied hair, the bit of his chest and shoulders still exposed to the cool night. 

"Some are a bit more modest than you appear to be." His scarred brow lifted slightly, trying and failing to not see her. How her golden hair floated around her, and how her eyes held a little bit of sadness. "I suppose you expect me to apologize for earlier." 

“No, you weren’t sorry about that.” She spoke softer, hand reaching to brush a feather light touch to his shoulder, his muscles tensing as the pads of her fingers grazed down his arm beneath the cloudy water toward his hand. “Why did you kiss me the way you did?” 

Kjaran swallowed a dry knot in his throat, slowly turning to face her. Milena’s fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, and he relented as she brought his wet fingers to her cheek, feeling her lean into his palm. She bit the bottom petal of her lip between her teeth, cerulean eyes dancing between his with a wary sort of hope.

"Because for a moment I did not think of death. I thought selfishly because the thought of never seeing, or speaking to you again struck a terror in me that the monster could not. So no, I am not sorry. Right or wrong I'd do it again." 

“Right or wrong, do you want to?” Milena stepped closer, pulling his hand down the pale column of her neck, down her chest, and Kjaran tensed, pausing just above her breast. She remained unphased when a rather prominent piece of his anatomy pressed gently against her hip, his breath catching as his veins filled with a sort of liquid fire. He fought the urge to groan as his hardened flesh slid against the soft skin of her navel, trying to seek no further friction as her heartbeat pounded against his palm. Milena pulled on his wrist again, and he stared into her hooded eyes as his hand filled with the softness of her breast, and she whispered distractedly. “Touch me Kjaran.” 

Kjaran stared at her lips as she pressed in closer the very moment his thumb brushed the hardened peak of her nipple, and she sighed softly causing his restraint to fall short of his own expectations. Milena’s hands found his shoulders, his hand sliding to her back as she wound her arms around his neck, breasts becoming bared and pressing into the firm plane of his chest. Without thinking, he pulled her flush against him, trapping his aching cock between them as he pressed her against the stone behind them. Her fingertips lightly grazed his cheek, holding each other captive with intensity in their eyes a moment before Milena pulled his hungry lips to hers. 

The throaty moan she breathed into him when her lips parted with invitation to his tongue made Kjaran press her more intimately against the rock, his fingers weaving into her damp hair at the nape. She gasped into his lips, fingers tense around the back of his neck, body rolling against him seeking closer contact. Kjaran found himself slowing the kiss, pulling breathlessly back to rest his forehead against hers. Her full lips fluttered softly against his once more, wide blue eyes greeting him with a brush of her nose.

"Would you have me?" His whisper was breathy, grazing his knuckles down her cheek. His body was straining with need, fingers tensed against her milky flesh with want to touch and worship every inch like a madman.

"Yes." Milena whispered definitively into his lips, almost desperate in her breathlessness. Their eyes met in barely a moment's break, as she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and slipped her hands very slowly down his chest. She took it upon herself to explore him, fingers tracing the lines of his chest and stomach were scars and muscles defined him all the way down to the dip of his hips. Kjaran suppressed his ecstasy into a low throated growl when her fingers traced the curve of his cock, pressed imposingly against her stomach. When her fingers wrapped around the length, his eyes closed with an exhale, head falling forward to press his forehead against her own.

“Milena...” He half groaned, half whispered, only stopping at the silencing press of her finger to his lips. She was probably right, though his brain had long since stopped functioning as a rational organ, silence was for the best. His hands relaxed, sliding less respectfully down the curve of her back to lift her against him by the fleshy muscle of her ass with a generous squeeze that pulled the core of her womanhood against the hard pike of his cock. Milena pulled his lips back to hers, humming lustily in her throat as she wound her powerful legs around his hips, placing her soft skin flush to him without a breath left between them. He left her gasping to trail his lips over her jaw, tongue seeking the salty drops of water trailing down her neck, drawing some of her flesh into his mouth with light sucking motions that made her gasps echo across the cavern walls. 

Her hips became grinding against him, steady moans growing impatient with want to match his own. Right or wrong, anything outside of that steaming pool became lost to the heat in her eyes, the luxurious feeling of her skin, the taste of her lips, and the sound of his own name uttered hushed into his ear. Kjaran steadied her in one arm, reaching just below to grasp himself in his palm, sweeping the swollen head between her thighs slick with more than just water in ask for entrance. Milena’s darkened eyes met his, breath coming in gasps between her lips as he pressed himself into her hot depth with shallow, gentle thrusts.

Muscles tensed in her thighs, fingers dug into his shoulder as she eased him deeper, enveloped him in a mercilessly tight heat far hotter than the waters that enveloped them and more blissful than any sensation he could remember before it. Kjaran pressed into her again, watching her brows furrow, eyes desperate with desire that panted from her lips into his own until he was seated so perfectly inside her that he gifted her with a moan of his own. 

"Are you alright?" He breathed, pressing his lips to hers with the softest of intent, though her eyes were wild. "I don't want to hurt you." 

"Hurt me... burn me up, it doesn't matter... I want this. I need all of you." From there, Kjaran was hers. He drowned her breathy moans with his lips, capturing and claiming each one as his own, thrusting up into her against the dark rock, savoring the way her body gripped and stroked at his invading cock, and the soft swells of her chest rubbed against the slick flesh of his own. 

The water rippled around them each time their hips met with almost agonizing pleasure. Her body moved with him in tight strokes like waves upon the shore, in an attempt to steal what pieces of him she could as the high tide at dawn erodes sand from the coastline. Their hands were greedy with exploration, gripping each other’s flesh to become familiar with their desires. Her curves and the way her muscles flexed beneath his fingers became addicting the more he insatiably plunged himself inside of her. Milena was more greedy with her body than her hands, content to wrap around him until he was unsure if he could ever let her go. For a woman who appeared to have nothing left to lose, for all she’d tried to take from him, he would have given so much more.

Kjaran worshipped her with his hands, each curve and scar he could find with vision obscured by darkness and turbulent green water, groaning at the feel of her hot breath panting against his neck, teeth nipping at his pulse between presses of her plush lips. Her legs hiked higher on his waist, attempting to pull him deeper into her silken depths, every roll of her hips sending waves of utter bliss through him that built a familiar but delicious pressure he reckoned might burst at any moment. Her arms held him so close, thighs shaking under his gripping fingers, flexing in attempts to quicken his thrusts to no avail with the water's buoyant resistance. His own name echoed back to him through the caverns, such a sound that sought to unwind not only his body, but his heart, as she gave back as much as she’d taken. 

"Milena..." He whispered against her neck, lapping slowly where he could feel her pulse thrumming hardest. Trailing toward her ear with a low moan as the intensity of her body, so perfectly pulling him under tightened and rippled around him, Kjaran sought to drown. 

Their eyes met, foreheads kissing, too entwined in pleasure and gasping breaths to mingle lips and Kjaran felt her begin to fall apart. Ragged gasps became more vocalized, her body trembled in his arms, back arched to pull him in deeper, and he held her tightly against him as though trying his best to keep her together. But she stilled, throbbing around him like a heartbeat that beckoned him deep into her tempest with short, satisfying thrusts that claimed him to the pleasurable abyss where he pulled her so tightly to his chest, and abruptly emptied all of himself into her with jerking hips and absent, growling moans. 

The veil lifted after a few moments of clinging to that blissful moment in the aftermath where reality wouldn’t touch them and only the night was privy to beautiful sin, veiled by the thick mist of the pools. He allowed himself a moment to caress the strong line of her back, to press his lips to her shoulder, simply holding on as long as he could, though it wouldn’t ever be long enough. Kjaran swore he saw a tear escape down her cheek as she slowly unwound her legs from his hips for the soft clay that lined the bottom of the pool. She winced, gathering her bandaged arm to her with a slow step away from him, and the silence between them grew as thick as the earthy steam rising from the springs.

“Do not run from this. It’s not like you.” Kjaran caught her around the waist with his arm when she began to wade away from him. She turned to meet his eyes, lips swollen and parted, brows furrowed from the pain in her eyes, and perhaps her arm. Milena had claimed to never run from anything, and he believed her until now, until she tried to run away from him. 

“How do you run from a lie Kjaran? Just because something is beautiful does not make it lawful.” Gold fringe plastered to her forehead and he fought the urge to brush it away though even such a small measure of affection became so absurdly forbidden considering the hardly sated passion he still felt thrumming through his veins. 

"Because it's a crime you're not sorry you've committed." Kjaran commented dryly, following her toward a more shallow part of the pool, where rocks were more suitable for climbing out. Milena paused and turned back toward him, hand over her failing bandage and lips tensed in thought like she searched for some explanation. Her chest still heaved trying to catch the air, difficult under stifling humidity, but he knew his own breathlessness had more to do with Milena. He'd tasted something beautiful in her, a growing admiration blooming into something insufficient for him, but more dangerous for her. Selfishly he wanted more, though as a man who revered law as sacred, he understood.

“All the more reason that I should run. I am not sorry.” Kjaran followed her with his eyes as she hesitantly stepped toward him, a small thing that flared that fire in his veins once more with the primal urge to invite her onto the stone to know the feeling of her body once more. Her movement, her hesitation was all he needed to know of her want, and her remorselessness was all he needed to know of her feelings. “I have been running from my marriage bed since the moment I boarded my ship, and now it is he of all people that I have wronged.” 

He watched her crawl out of the hot spring, scrambling to grab her cloak, freezing when Kjaran approached to help her wrap the thick cape of furs around her trembling shoulders. Her eyes widened, he felt no bit of smug pride or need to cover himself from her wandering stare as she turned to face him, appraising his body with a hard swallow. He supposed it was a bit late for modesty. Guilt washed over her features and she pulled the cloak tighter around her, shifting her sullen gaze to the ground between them.

"If only for tonight, don't run." He frowned, finally moving the damp gold fringe from her face with careful fingers, searching her eyes, which misted with unfallen tears. Kjaran brushed a thumb over her cheek, the blue luminescence of the cave allowing him enough light to see her ethereal features, making the blue of her eyes all the more potent. "At least let me walk you back to camp." 

She only nodded, turning away from him so he could pull on his trousers and linen shirt which clung to the sheen of moisture on his skin like the locks of silver that he released from the tight knot he wore it in. Kjaran bundled the rest of his attire into his cloak in a makeshift sack and gathered it in one arm, stomach sinking when he allowed himself to look at her, unable to speak or admit to feelings that stabbed at him like a million daggers to the stomach. Milena stole his breath every time, and it pained him knowing he would likely soon encounter her husband, a man he didn’t know and yet he too, had wronged him. Clearing his throat, he used his free hand to usher her from the cavern once dressed and ready. More than happy to let the worries of tomorrow lurk in wait for them, in hopes that tomorrow would never come. 

* * *

The first breath of fresh night air was the best breath she'd taken in recent memory. Her body ached as she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, fighting the urge to simply lean on Kjaran and let him carry her the way down the shadowy path toward the campground. She bit her lip, trying to think of anything she could say that wasn't so glaringly obvious and grounded into a reality that it might taint, and further ruin the evening. Her body was deliciously sore, limbs sated into uselessness, but her arm stung and throbbed painfully, and her heart felt like it was cracked and shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

Kjaran was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She’d been taken aback by it when he emerged from the cloudy waters of the spring, bared to the moonlight, providing a feast for her selfishly hungry eyes. There was no hiding that he was a bigger man all around, clothed or not, his long limbs and towering height was only further confirmation of everything else she’d tried not to hear her archers gossip about since their first camp. Regardless he’d left her breathless, feeding an insatiable want for the Northman she’d come to know over the past days, through all of the calamity that followed them from shore to shore. She felt her stomach churn, attempting not to look up at him as they walked since she now learned that his cold eyes could be warm and affectionate, his sharp and rugged features could be just as loving as they could terrify, or in Milena’s case, be terrifying because they were loving.

“Do you need help tending to your arm?” Kjaran offered, his voice jarring her as they stepped back onto the campgrounds where the sounds of laughter, murmurs of stories, and the lusty noise of those enjoying each other filled the brisk night. Along the way, he’d pulled his hair down from the knot he’d kept it in at the springs, leaving it free to dry in shades of moonlight over his tanned skin. 

"No, I think I can manage. I am tired." She lied, knowing sleep wouldn't come easy, if at all. Milena avoided his stare, piercing even in the darkness she knew it might burn for her to know more of him than she already had. She ached for it even, that sensation of being full of someone on more than just a physical level, and now that it was over, she felt twice as empty. Kjaran was kind enough to escort her back to the little turf hut she borrowed, the silence between them thick enough to slice through with a blade. "Thank you, for walking me back." 

"Milena, I don't want you to run from this." He leaned in, whispering softly and she observed a twitch in his fingers like he might reach for her before his hands balled into tense fists at his sides.

“I have never run from anything in my entire life, but my path is clear. I chose the one I wanted and it was wrong. The Gods have their reasons, but their path is seldom the one we want.” She wet her lips and braved looking into his angered face. “Please, I place no blame on you for whatever consequence follows my actions.”

"They were my actions, my choices too." He growled, anger lighting the paleness of his eyes from within as he took an aggressive step forward to tower over her, but Milena didn’t budge. Kjaran was so beautiful of soul that it brought her sorrow, a man wild as the wolves and more dangerous still, but not hers to have.

“Sefi has yet to decide your fate, and even then the Gods are entitled to the final verdict as well.” Against her better judgment, she rested a hand on his arm and stepped close to meet his imposing stare. “Look at tonight as a gift, Sefi is gracious but there are no promises of mercy. You did threaten her people, directly or not.” Milena swallowed a dry knot in her throat, shifting her weight away from him to step inside the small turf house, his silence becoming oppressive. 

“As a woman who has been loyal, and I believe that you have, I choose not to accept that you gift me your body for one night’s enjoyment with no other impassioned thought behind it.” 

“Believe what you wish Jarl, but I have much to pray on, and forgiveness to seek. I am certain you do as well, so I will say goodnight.” The dissatisfied nod he provided in return was telling that he did not believe her half hearted lie. She wouldn’t look at his face let alone his eyes, and hurriedly moved to place the door between them. 

Kjaran didn’t move, didn’t flinch until the door closed behind her, pressing her back against the timber surface. Milena clenched her eyes allowing the first tears to trail down her cheeks with the sound of his footfalls as he walked away. She’d gotten carried away, one of her less desirable traits unfortunately, thinking in the moment that she had nothing left to lose. It turned out that there was something in her heart that she’d denied these past days, and Milena allowed that something to walk away with her denial in his hands, leaving her emptier than she’d been before.

She shivered, the room cool and dark as she sparked a fire against her sword with some flint, and quickly changed into a dress meant for sleeping. It was one Sefi kept there, thin and white, too small in the chest but Milena made it work by leaving the top untied. It had no sleeves to it so she could more effectively care for the seared gash in her arm, but not before the fire could chase away the chill. She crouched by the hearth, face pinching as she applied leftover salve to the wound and tied it up with some extra bandages she had prepared. She took the time to begin work on her hair, running a bone comb through endless gold locks so she could assemble them into braids once it dried. Whispered prayer uttered from her lips while she worked, blue eyes transfixed on the fire in front of her while she begged for guidance. 

"Hail Freyja, shining Goddess of gold, I praise you. Bless me with the insight to the marrow of my bones that I am a person of worth in the eyes of the Gods, the eyes of my ancestors, and of myself. Teach me to walk through my day with pride in my own being, with confidence and power despite my tresspasses. May you forgive the path I have chosen, my errors are done with heart, and good intent. Perhaps maybe love...." 

The timber door interrupted her prayer as it swung open with violent force, crashing against the corresponding wall. Milena stood to reach for her sword, pausing only in realization that it was Kjaran barreling into the small hut unannounced at such an hour, clothes and hair disgruntled, eyes wild as they fixed on her. Before the door could even swing shut behind him, he rushed forward in a few long strides without giving Milena a second to think before she found herself in his arms, and at the mercy of his lips.

She wanted to fight him, push him off of her and scream at him for his stubborn insistence. Milena wanted to be the rational one for once, remind him of all the many reasons that she didn't belong in his arms but that sort of thinking was lost once she was enveloped in the warm haven of them. His mouth, firm and insisting against her own, was mulish as though he could hear her unspoken protests that came out more like encouraging moans against his lips. 

"Kjaran..." She managed to gasp when his mouth relented to her jaw to trail down the long column of her neck. Milena remembered too well the wicked feelings he brought forth with his mouth against her skin, she remembered wanting so much more that the depth of the hot springs denied them both. She shivered, fingers curling into the thin linen of his tunic to pull him closer, lifting her chin to grant him better access despite her contradicting words. "We can't-"

"Until the Sun rises.." He whispered, almost demanded, nuzzling her jaw tenderly with his nose before scraping his teeth along the edge. Kjaran's fingers went to work at lifting the skirt on her borrowed nightdress until she felt the warm pads of his fingers caressing her thighs. "Come what may afterward, what's done is already done, but if all we have is tonight..." 

"Then you will lay with me until love isn't just a thought. There's no turning back from that." She kissed him tentatively, inhaling the soft scent of lye and mint from his soap a moment before she pulled back to gaze stubbornly into his eyes. "How dare you ask this of me." 

"I play no games of the heart Milena, turning back is sometimes only the path forward." He lapped his tongue up the line of her neck until his breath at her ear sent shivers down her spine, arousing every hair on her body, "You're quivering, but you may say no to my brazen whims. I take no offense, but I cannot beg forgiveness for what I do not regret. To the Gods, or otherwise." 

In response, her fingers hooked into the thinner fabric of his shirt, pulling it from his trousers to hitch over his broad chest and shoulders, letting Kjaran finish pulling it over his head. As quickly as it was discarded to the floor, her hands sought the warmth of his skin, hitching his breath under caresses that journeyed from the finely toned muscles of his chest, down the defined lines of his stomach. The firelight flickered over the strong ridges of him, revealing scars and lines she hadn’t been able to appreciate by the very dim light of the caves. Her chin lifted at the request of his fingers that urged her eyes to meet his own, hungry and yearning, still waiting for her answer.

"Until the Sun rises then..." She agreed breathily, "but you will handle me as if I'm the last woman you'll ever know." 

“Then I will pray for an eternal night.” He cradled her head in his palm, fingers laced in thick strands of gold, appraising her eyes before something ignited between them and his lips descended with passion. Milena breathed him in, her fingers entwining in his hair to steady herself as his hands began to wander, and she thought she might weep beneath his hunger, an impatience she didn’t think he possessed came out in full force with each press of his lips.

She found herself lifted onto the table, weightlessly as though they were still submerged in the springs, gasping for breath as he moved his lips down the length of her throat, pausing to suck lightly at the flesh by her pulse. 

"Harder." She demanded breathily, biting her lip to stifle a strangled moan when he complied, eyes rolling and fingers gripping his back in attempts to pull him closer. His lips only trailed further down to the crook of her neck, his tongue tasting the flesh there with a breathy sigh of his own. He had nestled himself comfortably between her thighs, skirt hiked up around her hips, fingers kneading into the fleshy bits of her legs and ass, pulling her against his straining groin. The gown ripped easily in his hands, swelling her heart a moment at the care he took to avoid further injuring her already bandaged arm. Yet his impatience began mounting into something ravenous, scarcely allowing her the time to lift her hips enough for him to yank the thin white fabric away. 

She'd never felt more naked in her life, more vulnerable, or exposed. Kjaran urged her to lie back against the table with his palm pressed between her breasts, pale eyes hungry and observant, and Milena felt a certain thrill she'd never known before. His tongue quenched his lips, hands and eyes roving over taught breasts and flat stomach, the wide curve of her hip and the small thatch of darker blonde curls between her thighs. 

"Beautiful." He breathed, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, his thumbs circling the aroused pink tips of her breasts cradled in each of his palms. His silver hair fell in curtains, mostly loose to the side as he replaced his hands with his mouth, her fingers entwining in the silken strands to allow her better visibility with the first wet kiss he planted on the inside of her hip. 

Milena gasped, air becoming distant memory to the feeling of Kjaran so shamelessly sampling what flesh he could find. Nipping at her hip bones, tracing her battle scars with his tongue, tenderly kissing where it tickled to make her smile despite her various hums and sighs of approval. He'd practically crawled on top of the table himself by the time he reached her breasts, his own arousal pressing imposingly into her hip through trousers that quickly began to infuriate her. 

Kjaran chuckled, deep in his throat when she tried to reach for him, pressing her harder against the wood surface of the table with a sharp nip to her breast. Milena meant to swat him away until he latched onto her, soothing the bitten area with a bold caress of his tongue, and it shot through her like an arrow to the heart. Her back lifted from the table, hips grinding into his straining cock for any sort of relief from the ache she felt with no satisfaction building between her legs. She wanted, needed more of him. Kjaran panted warm breathy gasps into her skin, her fingers so engulfed with his thick hair that her nails grazed his scalp and she tried in vain to slip his pants from his hips with her feet, their flurry of movement making the table groan beneath their combined weight. 

He stood, pulling her to her feet briefly to ravage her lips, in a manner that almost made the Draugr appear tame. There was a dangerous sort of lust in his eyes when he spun her, pushing her forward against the table, his palm once more pressing her stomach flat against the surface with a hand on her back between her shoulder blades. Milena could scarcely catch her breath, his hands gently swept her hair aside, grazing the pads of his fingers almost soothingly down her spine to the dimples of Venus that accented her lower back. Kjaran had her near madness with desire, a slick tension building with each touch or brush of his lips, her heart growing more and more erratic with his every appreciative sigh. He worshipped her as he might have worshipped Freyja or Frigga, a sort of devotion that tore her to pieces with the implication that she might be as important to him as one of their sacred deities. True to his word, he handled her as if he may never see another woman again.

Kjaran began his worship again, starting by kissing those dimples in her back, tasting and kissing his way up the curve of her spine until she was certain he was running out of skin he hadn’t kissed. Milena rose up on her elbows at the soft sound of fabric in motion behind her, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he removed the barrier of his trousers, kicking them aside carelessly to resume his lusty errands. His chest became flush with her back, insatiable hands at her breasts, gentle down the lines of her stomach, his fingers weaving carefully into the curls between her legs, sweeping a slow finger through the slick flesh between. 

It was slow and almost awkward, but still a new sensation for her from someone other than herself to touch her, her hips lifted, slowly rocking against his finger, with a desperate sigh against the table’s surface. Milena could feel Kjaran breaking down, his fingers growing bolder with firmer strokes into the heat of her creating a more desperate pitch to her moans for more. Teeth sunk into the flesh of her shoulder where he'd rested his forehead, forcing the cry building in her throat to erupt and absorb into the walls of turf and wood. Being with Kjaran was like drowning without the threat of death. She couldn't breathe, yet it was like she breathed for the very first time. Her lungs sought air but only inhaled water. Dangerous and beautiful, she began to wonder how deep she'd already sunk. How long until she’d actually drown.

"I want you." She gasped desperately, halting his hand when fingers tried to probe at her entrance. She'd had enough of the games, and they only had until dawn. "Please Kjaran."

"There's no one else. Remember?" He purred huskily into her ear before she felt the telling press of him, her body stretching to accommodate his intruding size as she became a part of him with an agonizingly slow thrust. A primal growl rumbled from his throat behind her, she actually gasped, flinching at the depth and size of him with tense fingers, her nails scratching the wood surface of the table. Like a mantra in her head, Milena told herself this wasn't real, yet every fiber of her being prayed to belong to this powerful, silver haired God who truly handled her as no other woman existed before her, or ever would after. "Surrender to it." 

A harsh breath passed her lips, his tender whispers felt far too right as though he knew her thoughts, dragging his mouth over her shoulder with a pleasured euphoric sigh. Perhaps it was the hungry way her body responded to his, how it clung and begged for more of him as Kjaran began moving inside of her with a wildness that brewed beneath his gentle strokes. Milena decided she wanted that wildness, that passion he'd demonstrated in restrained moments. 

"More." She purred as though she wasn't already so full of him she might burst, gaining leverage for more depth by lifting one leg onto the table, supporting herself at the knee. Kjaran's fingers tensed on her hip, and she gripped the other side of the table to steady herself as reason gave way to a reckless, savage lust. His height gave him the advantage, supporting himself up on one arm, his chest brushing her back with each hard thrust and amorous groan against her shoulder, while his other hand was free to roam. 

A sort of pleasured pain ripped through her as skin slapped skin with the fury and conviction of a war drum, her legs shaking with each heavy thud of his balls against her center, brows furrowed and crying out into her arm to try and stifle some of her desperate whimpers. The table began to rock dangerously, but she was greedy for him, lifting only slightly to peer back into the blazing inferno of his eyes. Kjaran kissed her distractedly before pushing her back down against the table roughly, pinning her to the surface with a hand between her shoulder blades, groaning out a curse as he bent over Milena, his forehead meeting her shoulder. Her moans became more desperate, moving with frenzy to meet his already rampant thrusts until the table cracked and caved beneath them.

Milena squealed, a girlish laugh when the table collapsed and Kjaran almost lost his own balance to pull them both upright with a moaning laugh of his own. She felt light, as she hadn't in too many years, spinning in his arms to kiss him and allow him to drag her toward the fire like he had every right to. His eyes gleamed such life in the firelight, and the weathered Northman became more beautiful as he spilled her over the thick furs in front of the fire, his silver hair in messy curtains over tanned skin, mysterious the way pale fringe nearly concealed one of his eyes and the other savagely scarred through one brow. Reaching between her legs, spread to accommodate him, she found his rigid manhood soft and hard at once. She enjoyed the raspy sighs and moans she could bring forth from the hulking mass of a man with her fingers alone, wrapping around him to stroke the aroused flesh. 

She explored his body with her other hand, veins, lines, and scars that told the story of him down to the light trail of fine silver hair that lead down his stomach for her to caress his cock with both hands. Kjarans pale eyes rolled, and he leaned down to kiss her again, his voice, his lips, better than anything she'd felt in years that almost made the rest of him too much. With gentleness, he removed her hands from him and placed them carefully by her head, fingers running lightly over the bandage at her arm with a near scolding look that told her to be careful. Milena bit her lip, defying his wishes to touch his face. 

His lips pressed into her palm with a slight turn of his head, trailing down her arm over her shoulder already marked by his teeth, pulse bruised from his greedy mouth, back down between her breasts and stomach, and just when Milena thought he might stop his mouth trailed lower. Kjaran distracted her with that stare of his that ignited something in her blood, as it had for weeks, and while he enjoyed her inner thigh with his mouth he began to stroke at her warily with his fingers. She hummed her approval, body twitching with lingering sensitivity, back arching when he moved his mouth from her thigh to the slick flesh between. 

He growled, becoming ravenous with hands clamped on her hips and thighs to hold her still, and Milena simply thought she'd lose her mind. She'd never felt anything like it. There was no sense of duty to the slick and wicked motions of his tongue, a selfless pleasure he offered her that she took, responding only with amorous, carefree cries of his name that sounded sweeter and sweeter the more she said it. Her body began to tremble, a familiar and tense wave ready to crash, yet she wanted more of him, she wanted that wave to crash into his arms. 

"Kjaran," She beckoned near hysterics, tugging somewhat gently on the fistful of his hair she'd gathered to pull him back up and into her. He crawled back up her body, large as he was he slipped into her with better ease and when he kissed her there was a slickness about his lips seemingly flavored by sea salt. He gasped into her parted lips, and Milena writhed into him, wrapping her arms around him so her nails could rake his back, leaving reddened trails on his skin with each intense shot of pleasure that seemed to rip into her soul beneath the undulation of his hips. 

The savagery that had initially taken over them turned far more intimate, so much that she wanted to weep with all she felt. A thing she'd longed for and never wanted to let go. But she did let go by holding tighter, hitching her legs on him higher until they quivered and that wave crashed into her, ripped her apart until all of her limbs trembled and held onto him for fear of becoming lost in the tides. Kjaran had stilled, peering down at her through veils of silver while she pulsed around him, pressing his lips softly to hers while she caught her breath. He'd watched her come apart with such affection on his face that she thought it might break her.

"I am in love with you." He admitted softly, brushing hair slicked to her forehead by sweat with the softest of touches and she wanted to cry. Milena couldn't say a word for fear of telling the truth, so she kissed him, and rolled them until she had him on his back. 

"I told you, there's no coming back from this." 

"I hadn't planned on coming back from it." He mused, hands roaming softly over her breasts, over her stomach and back up to tease the pink tips, "I told you, some men aren't so easily sated." 

Kjaran sat up with her as she began to ride him, wrapping her in his arms so he could moan into her neck, bite and suck at her pulse until she moaned along with him, gaining better angle to rub against their sweat slicked skin and rake her nails over his back. He cursed, each roll of her hips seeming to pull him into harsher gasps in which she responded with pitched moans until it all became so intense it became hard to tell where she began and Kjaran ended. 

When the wave crashed again, it stole both of their breaths because he gasped out loud, pulling himself deep as he could and as she pulsed around him a second time she felt his hips jerk, the warmth of him spread inside of her as he twitched, growling out his release as he emptied himself abruptly within her. 

When her eyes finally opened, the Sun hadn't yet risen. Her limbs felt weak, her body sore and content, too warm with his skin against hers by the fire yet she found herself not ready to unwind from Kjaran's strong frame. Gathering her in his arms, Milena let him carry her to one of their small, standard bathtubs half filled with water. It was refreshing against her sweat slicked skin, and as she began to wash up, Kjaran sat on a stool beside her to redress her wounded arm. 

She wanted to say something, but everything worth saying had already been said in heated moments of what felt like hours. He let her soothe his sweat sheened skin with a cool rag, washing away the heat, but really more of an excuse to touch him again. The table sat at an awkward angle, she'd have to come up with an excuse when her mind was clearer as to how it broke, and as she dragged herself toward the simple bed tucked in a corner while Kjaran went to dress. 

"The Sun hasn't risen." She pointed out, sitting up and gazing longingly at his broad form, taller than average men, with long muscled limbs that didn't even begin to speak of the power in them. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her a moment before abandoning his clothing and sauntering slowly toward her. Milena scooted aside, allowing him to slip into the bed almost too small for him, to lay beside her. 

She felt like a child, an errant woman lost to her Gods, an adulterer with no path toward anything but a reality she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Not until the Sun rose. So Milena buried herself against his skin, allowing the soft motions of his hand against her back to lull her into a deep and restful sleep, praying for that eternal night with her fingers entwined in his silver hair. 


	6. The Path Lead by the Playfulness of Cats is Lost

The Sun rose despite her prayers to remain in the warm shelter of his arms. She was enveloped, his chest pressed tightly against her back, curled around her with his face buried in her hair and his arm shielding her from the offensive day. Clothes lay sprawled across the floor, and the once sturdy table leaned awkwardly against the wall in it's broken state, and memories of his passion absorbed into the turf like a cleansing Spring rain. Words of love still rang in her ears, things she wished he never would have said because she never would have taken Kjaran for a fool until those words had been spoken.

"I thought I could trick the day." His voice came groggy and thick, and as he ran his lips along her shoulder in slow presses, a wanton shiver crept down her spine. 

"You've said more foolish things." She whispered, turning carefully in his arms to face him. Kjaran propped up on his arm, staring down at her with admiration in those clear blue eyes from beneath thick veils of silver fringe, cascades of it fell over darkened skin and the furs they lay on. He brushed some of the mussed hair from her face, trailing his soothing touch with the pads of his fingers over her skin.

Her eyes fluttered closed from the gentle caress, the sensation of falling tensing in her stomach at the contact. Milena winced before she opened her eyes to meet his affectionate gaze. Her body was sore, a stinging throb in her injured arm, and her heart was breaking at the seams. 

"I meant them all the same." He returned quietly, breaking a somewhat comfortable silence. The calm tone of his voice made Milena almost angry, and as Kjaran leaned in to try and kiss her, she pulled his arm from around her and slipped from the warmth of the bed into the cool morning. 

Milena blew through the gold fringe around her eyes, roughly beginning to pull on the ink-stained leather attire she'd rinsed and left to air, opting for a looser linen shirt that tied at the chest. Frustration tensed her lips and brows, and she spun around to face him in accusation. 

"I do not know what you hoped would come from last night, but-"

"I knew I loved you long before last night. Perhaps before the Kraken, or the beach, or when I was so angry that I had no words to speak. I owe the Draugr thanks because perhaps I wouldn’t have had the strength for victory had I not realized just how empty today would be if it claimed your life." Kjaran sat up slowly, running his fingers through his hair as he watched her stand there with her fists clenched, chest heaving for breath. "I know my place, Milena. I may say foolish things, but I am no fool." 

Her lips parted to retort but Kjaran stood from the bed and began to dress, and Milena felt her mouth run dry from the sight of him. She had no chance against a man like him, so beautiful and powerful in body and favor, and as unreasonable as he was brave. Swallowing hard, she had to turn away as the guilt settled into her stomach. There was just too much behind his intense eyes and kind hands, they spoke to her of far more than only one intense and carnal night, and it declared war between her mind and her heart. 

Commotion and movement beyond the little hut she borrowed was telling that their temporary settlement had begun coming to life despite, no doubt, a wicked bunch of hangovers. Kjaran's knuckles trailed down her cheek from behind, pulling her from her heartbroken distraction as his fingers cupped, and Kjaran bent down to place the softest of kisses to her temple. Her throat tightened immediately when her eyes met his, and without another word, Kjaran left with longing on his mouth in the form of a very knowing smile.

Her heart became lodged in her throat, tightening to match the hard stinging in her eyes. Milena knew what she needed to do and her heart toiled with what was right and wrong. A decision was made, however, her only assurance of it was that she could change her mind in regard to some things if she needed to. Not that even that notion left her with much consolation. Her arms wrapped around her torso, and when the first sob ripped through her, Milena was jarred and interrupted by a hard knock on the door. She couldn't wipe the tears from her cheeks fast enough. 

"We've had perfect timing Millie the raven just... arrived... " Magnhildr paused, brow raised as she took in Milena's disgruntledness, stepping further into the room with swaying green eyes to help her arrange braids in her gold-blonde hair. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Milena responded flatly with a tired sigh. "So the raven has come?" 

"Who were you with last night?" Mag paused, the tall warrior raised her brow, lips tensed with distaste. Magnhildr and Sefi both were favored by Goddesses known to bless the ideals of hearth and home, which of course included marriage. "Asger is a swine but he is still your husband you know." 

"What makes you think I've-" Mag cut her off, poking her finger hard into a bruise on her neck at her pulse, no doubt feeling her heart quicken beneath it. 

"I may have sway over storms instead of powers of heart and song, but the intent for divorce does not make it binding. He is still your husband." She pulled back, and Milena gazed up into her rather motherly expression. 

"I'm not going to divorce Asger." Her voice came small, and she watched Mag swallow her outrage and kneel in front of her to be at eye level. Her friend could see the devastation in Milena's wide blue eyes that were almost frightened and horrified, and absolutely longed for a sort of contentment she'd only ever felt from one night. 

"My beautiful friend, I do not know who warmed your bed last night or how you have come to this ludicrous decision, but before I deliver you the raven's news... why have you had such a drastic change of heart?" Magnhildr brushed a rogue tear from Milena's cheek as it threatened to roll down her face and she found herself struggling not to fall apart and tell her everything. She'd always told Mag everything. 

"My ship is lost... " Mag gave her an incredulous look, brows raising to encourage further explanation that she delivered with a steadying sigh. "My hearth is cold... it will remain so for the rest of my days as my life is no living daydream of children and glory. Only a small farm and a husband that warms many beds and would own me before respecting my passion for adventure, let alone show me an ounce of real love." 

"That is no life, Milena. Asger is poison to you, and without your ship..." 

"In time I'll rebuild. We have more ships now, I'll still join the raids." Milena lifted her eyes to meet Mag's worried ones, a weak excuse for a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, "It's not much of a life but it's mine. The Gods have clearly spoken when I asked for a path forward and mistook the news of this supposed threat as that path. My ship is gone and the only clear path is home." Milena shifted uneasily, catching the lingering taste of him on her lips when her tongue went to quench hers. "What news did the raven bring us? Will there be a trial or death? Or will Sefi meet them?" 

"Sefi will meet them. She's the curious sort you know, and one to pray on such big decisions under Ragna's care. You know there will be questions as to why they are free. That certain keepers of our Gods will be upset...that Hildr.." Mag trailed off, visibly shivering by even uttering the name. “It might be best to hinder their sight so they do not learn the way.”

"The raven will likely make it back before we do, send word of my ship and of our losses to the Kraken. That the Jarl and his crew have earned their right to freedom for saving our lives." Milena swallowed hard, frowning at the sound of rowdy men outside the door knowing it was Jǫðurr and Zephyr going at it as usual. Knowing Kjaran wouldn't be far from them. "Tell Sefi that I don't believe the Northern Jarl seeks to cause us harm, but we'd be fools to lower our guard and trust them completely." 

"You're pale. Should you lie down more? Or would you like company for a dip in the springs and you can tell me what troubles you so. Other than the thought of returning to Asger..." 

"I'm fine. Maybe something to eat will help. It is a shame that horrid beast delayed us so. We would have had more days here to play in the springs and explore the island as we did when we were young." Milena smiled fondly and leaned against Mag's shoulder. "We should set sail tomorrow. Return as soon as possible so judgment can be made and we can put it all behind us." 

"I'll make you breakfast, but I think you should rest." Mag placed a friendly kiss to her head, and stood, gesturing toward the broken table that fell uselessly against the wall. "I feel as though I should be afraid to ask. Shall I have Jǫðurr see if he can repair it?" 

"No." Milena winced nervously, waving it off with a careless hand. "Well, maybe later. I'll eat and review shifts with the others before I head back to the springs since our trip will be cut so short." 

Magnhildr lifted her eyes to the ceiling, appraising the fallen table once more before heading out into the morning sun with a disbelieving shake of her head. Milena could finally deflate, and use Sefi's news to distract herself with the next course of action and begin concerning herself with their return home. No doubt it would be a heavily political affair, tense, and Milena almost looked forward to it as an escape from Asger's no doubt judgemental lectures and snide remarks that would come with a bit more acid now that there was actual weight to his words. 

She returned to the springs after a hearty breakfast, a selfish errand that morning to wash away the lingering aftermath of the previous night. A failed attempt to purge it from her mind. She noticed the harsh pain that should have throbbed through her arm was absent, finding that the wound healed a remarkable amount in the short time that she’d slept when she removed the bandage once settled into the hot waters of a well-hidden spring. A result too drastic not to be suspicious, and yet she had no explanation for it. The pain had mostly subsided and while the flesh was still raw, it was as though several days had passed. 

The entire camp was now in a frenzy of action, foraging and preparing for the final trip to bring this group of brazen men back to their settlement. Magnhildr was slaving over fires, drying deer meat, cooking another large boar and some small rabbits she and Nefir had caught that morning. Others worked hard together, both his men and her women, on arrangements to repair sails and begin to reload the ships with heavier items in preparation for their departure at the next sunrise. 

Milena stared at Kjaran’s back while he offered direction to some of his men, long silver hair falling smooth down his back over the fur lining of his cloak. She liked to think she was a brave woman, yet just when she thought she’d grown the courage to ask him about the remarkable healing, she grew cowardly and resigned to the explanation that it was a favor from the Gods. Though after her behavior the previous night, there was no reason for them to gift her with such a thing, so she frowned and brushed passed him to speak to Magnhildr. 

“It is early in the season still but I may be able to find some blackberries. Everyone has assignments, so I think I’ll go for a walk.” 

“Should you bring someone along after yesterday? You still seem off. Are you sure you shouldn’t rest?” Magnhildr paused, brushing auburn strands from her forehead with the back of her hand, squinting through the fog of smoking meat. 

“I’ll bring my own weapon along. I won’t go far.” 

“You’ve been sneaking off a lot today. If you aren’t back by sundown-” 

“You’ll come looking.” Milena smiled in assurance earning that Motherly gaze Mag had become so good at. “I’ll be fine.” 

Kissing the taller Maiden’s cheek, she sauntered off to strap her knife sheath to her thigh and grab a basket before she hit another overgrown trial in the opposite direction. The forest was alive with birds and the gentle lull of the sea from a nearby shore. The quiet was needed as she hadn’t fully grasped all that had happened between the Kraken and her ship, the Draugr, and Kjaran. 

Milena shivered in memory again, approaching the barely ripened patch of berries with a heavy sigh. It was easy to become lost to sorrow or trauma, for those lost alongside her ship to the great beast of the sea, or that horrible monster in the forest. Things she could do nothing about, but there was still the matter of Kjaran. He was still an anomaly to her, a contradiction of stern and forbidden affection that she found herself aching to seek solace in. She had no want to resist it, only knowing it was risky to the favor of her Goddess and hinged on too many other factors.

“So word has come back from your Jarl?” Milena jumped at the sounding voice of the object of her thoughts, turning with her hand on the hilt of her knife to glare at him with a hard expression.

“Sneak up on me like that again and you may end up with a knife in your gut. “ Milena bit with a tired sigh, throwing the berry between her fingers with a bit more force into the basket. “Yes. Sefi has approved your trial. The Thing will take place upon our arrival.” 

“She doesn’t wait.” 

“No, she does not play games with our Gods, Jarl. These lands are occupied with many, and not all are so welcoming to outsiders.” She tensed as he stepped closer, but tore him from her sights and continued to pick at some of the darker berries in front of her. 

“I assume your divorce will take place shortly after.” He shifted on his feet, arms crossed, and his words sent Milena’s heart leaping to her throat. 

“You will bite your tongue. I’m not divorcing Asger.” Her tone softened, and she more frantically threw more berries into the basket she held. 

“Milena.” He nearly growled, grasping her shoulder to force her to stare upon him. “I meant what I said.” 

“You talk a lot.” He didn’t really. But for the situation she found them in he had perhaps said too much in a fit of passion. 

“I can protect you.” He offered sternly, “My title can protect you.” 

“I do not NEED your protection Jarl. What good will you be if Sefi has your head? If Ragnarok falls because the Gods are angered by your very presence here? I wouldn’t move to the North, I cannot. Sefi requires me, and she is my purpose as Erland is yours apparently.” Milena tore her good arm from his iron grip, staring up into his cold reasoning eyes. Breath became harder with the nerves, a vicious want to know more of this cold man’s warmth. “I am soiled enough. It was a beautiful night, a beautiful secret, and a beautiful lie, Jarl. We’ll do well to leave it at that.” 

“There was no lie in it. Not from me.” Of course not, a righteous man like him wouldn’t lie to his worst enemy. He’d deliver their truths in blood of course, but the sentiment was likely the same. 

“Then keep your truths to yourself Kjaran. It is a sinking ship no matter how I look at it, and mine has already sunk.” 

“It is better to die fighting than to live a hopeless life, Milena.” Kjaran frowned down at her, it was perhaps not her most endearing moment, but she continued ignoring him to gather berries. 

“I never said that I would stop fighting, but I will fight what has passed between us. Having hope for something that can never be, is no life either.” 

Milena watched the anger flare behind his eyes, jaw, and fists clenched in apparent frustration that hardened his carved features. They’d both done wrong in caving to the attraction between them, a weakness she shouldn’t have been allowed, but likely his honor was just as wounded as hers with her refusal of his offer. 

“Understood.” 

Kjaran turned and walked away, face and demeanor like stone, leaving her breathless and afraid. Milena watched his tall form disappear back down the overgrown path, terrified by the emotions brewing inside of her. A painful turmoil that might have been beautiful under a vast array of other scenarios, and it felt wrong to watch him walk away. She fell to her knees on the dirt path, overwhelmed by a sorrowful feeling that ached in her chest, but she did not cry. Milena kept picking berries with shaking hands and an ever-growing knot in her throat. She told herself she made the right choice, and that after such a brief encounter, it wasn’t heartbreak she felt. A man couldn’t break what was not given to him, so she lifted her face to the thick canopy above, peering into the sunlight through the leaves.

“So why do I feel so hollow?” She whispered to the brave God Tyr. 

* * *

“You've changed.” Nefir remarked over a mouthful of gamey rabbit meat. Kjaran frowned, not at the man beside him, but deep into the flame. Briefly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, blue and empty. She gazed at him a moment, and tore her eyes toward one of her Maidens she’d been pretending to listen to. 

“I am no different, just planning our next move.” Kjaran willed himself to look away from her as she forced a smile and engaged herself with the younger girl distractedly.

“Well you haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you have scarcely said a word today outside of barking orders as though we’d never prepared ships before.” 

“I could die by weeks end. I’m making peace with my Gods.” His voice was stern, and he stared back into the fire to ignore the concerned look that passed between Zephyr and Jǫðurr. 

“You should get drunk and find yourself a woman.” Jǫðurr suggested, raising his cup of ale with an infuriating and already intoxicated grin. Kjaran simply shot him a look. Drunk wasn’t the worst idea the blonde ever had. The problem was the more he dwelled on the previous night, the more other women had little to no appeal. 

“He suffers The Mighty Passion, or we would be joining the others in the feast instead of sulking here with our heartsick Jarl.” Kjaran rolled his eyes, for being a brutish man with a forging hammer, Nefir was a sentimental soul. “I had hoped to have the boar, but Mag says it is reserved for another purpose. Rabbit just doesn’t satisfy the same.” Nefir smirked and took another bite of the meat anyway. 

“My thoughts are only of survival you hearthfire idiot. There is more power at play than just these women to appease. You’d do well to keep your hands to yourselves, we do not want to risk angering them.” 

“Yes, I have heard them speak of the lands around their settlement. That that they are visited by strange creatures and Gods alike. One who holds Ragnarok itself in her hands and controls the wiley wolves of The End. A frightful thing to think about.” 

“She’s done more than speak it seems.” Kjaran noted with disdain, averting his eyes from the flame to Nefir. “That is what I mean. It is not wise to get attached, or do anything that might anger them.”

“I fail to see how it would anger them. If love comes of it and it is blessed-”

“That is not for us to decide.” He bit, rubbing his eyes between his fingers and generously smudging the soot that framed them. “I’m going to sleep. Rest now, we sail out at first light.” 

Kjaran met her eyes as he stood, unsure if his gaze was a hopeful invitation for her to join him, or if that hope fell upon pure foolishness. Milena’s eyes were big and sad, he hoped the longing that might have been there was strong enough to sway the tide. 

His night was restless and full of fitful dreams, chased away by a sweet one, a visit from his son. He spoke in the whimsical language of an excited child about Freyja and her cat-drawn carriage, how she stood beside him with loving grace. Tears streaked soot further down his face as he embraced the boy, planting kisses on his youthful face. 

“Loving is the Goddess who seeks such as her name. A path lead by the playfulness of cats is often lost in curiosity, but a path unknown is always found. Freyja is kind to me Papa. She says if you are as brave as Tyr's blessing, she will light the path where wolves fear to prey." 

Kjaran wept all the more as the dream faded and he struggled to hold onto the boy left waiting for him in the life beyond the one he lived. He was happy and sad all at once, wiping his eyes as they opened to the darkened room. The sky was still dark, but Kjaran rose alone to dress and prepare to face his fate. 

Stepping around the huddled and snoring masses of Jǫðurr and Zephyr, he stepped outside to greet the cool morning air. His face lifted to the stars, still flickering and lingering brightly in the velvet blue sky. It touched his lips with the faintest of smiles, a rare, soft expression of love and longing that Kjaran had only shared with one other in recent memory.

“Yes. I hear you.” He spoke softly enough to not disturb those still slumbering around the fading embers of the previous night's fires. Nefir was one to read the stars, yet Kjaran answered as though he heard a small boy’s voice guiding him forward. He had a few plans in mind in preparation for his audience with the Moonlit Jarl of these foreign lands. 

Part of him sought to still raid and take what he could of their land and treasure, but firstly his numbers had drastically dwindled, and given Milena and her reinforcements, Sefi was bound to be more ready for a Northman’s brutality than the soft-bellied weaklings of the West. After all, Kjaran could not call any of it coincidence after the spectacle Nefir and Mag made of Thor’s favor against the Kraken with such a precise bolt of lightning. Then the horror of the Draugr, and the pleasure of a woman too ferocious, too beautiful to belong to any realm of man.

Kjaran thought differently now, the tide shifting with promise and hopes for his people that might be granted from Sefi’s supposed mercy. The other Gods they spoke of were another thing, and not one he could readily plan for since he did not know of which realm they served, and which Gods they claimed to be. Given all that he’d seen he wasn’t one to judge or speculate. How could he? It was clear he would have to lean on his heart to guide him forward instead of a brazen dauntlessness that had always served him before. 

It was later after a meager breakfast, that their busy settlement followed he and Milena in a rather tense sort of procession toward the beach where their fleet waited for them. Her face was sooted, her beauty wild beneath the runic designs she’d scrawled on her face with black and red. It was hard not to look at her, or speak because what could Kjaran even dare to say? Certainly nothing to sway her favor in regards to himself, or his people. 

A pained cry broke through the eerie silence from the back of the long line of their cavalcade, followed by the sounding of horns amidst very sudden chaos. He met Milena’s eyes before both wordlessly ran toward the noise, flanked by Mag and his three other men. These lands brought yet another surprise forth as they found themselves under attack from strange but beautiful men and women, all dark-haired with fierce and intense eyes. Strange that he hadn’t seen any other signs of civilization since they arrived.

As if from nowhere, Milena cried out in her throat, a strange sound that did not phase their attackers but brought on a barrage of arrows and a wall of defensive shields in front of them.

“The Dark Elves. They are knowing of all things spoken to them by the Earth. They must have learned of your presence here.” Milena peered between shields while they managed to hold the line.

“They look like you or I, what are these Elves you speak of?” Kjaran mumbled, unflinching at the arrows that began to rain down around them as their attackers retaliated. He should have known better than to question the mythical beings of these lands, and yet these people were beautiful, but otherwise rather unextraordinary. 

“No time to explain. Elven kind look like you and I. These are Ragna’s people, seers.” Her voice strained around clenched teeth from trying to hold the line, a sort of savage fury lighting up behind her eyes.

“Well, we get nowhere hiding behind shields. After the next barrage, we attack.” 

Surprisingly Milena nodded in agreeance to his plan and issued the command to Mag at her side to pass along with a determined nod. Kjaran made a low whistle to his men to relay the same. Zephyr, Jǫðurr, and Nefir all nodded their ready and tightened hands on their weapons. 

The next barrage ended in a bloody massacre of two more from their side. Before he could so much as stand up straight to attack, Milena released a mighty war cry and launched herself directly off of his shoulder and over the shields that blocked the enemy’s further advance, shield in one hand and a sword in the other. Dozens of her Shield Maidens followed suit, fearlessly and strategically breaking the line of defense. 

Battle always was a flurry of limbs, blood, and bone flying through the air to the sound of screams of pain as well as triumph. It wasn’t until he was in the throes of it that he could tell the difference between these strange and beautiful beings so precognitive of their movements. Kjaran became faintly aware of her at his back, hot sprays of blood against his skin and the telling sign of broken bones. Their ambush had rather noticeably thinned their numbers, and it was likely some of their supplies had been taken, but amidst the chaos, it was hard to gauge. 

Elves were slippery fighters, fluid in their movements so it was hard to weave around their sharp blades slicing the air, seeking flesh, and at her pained cry, he had to force himself to stay alert and strong. It was her shield however to block an arrow from plunging into his chest, much to his relief that Milena was still among the living, furious and savage. She strangely made Kjaran feel at ease as they fought together, protecting each other, and Kjaran could focus better on the battle with her at his back. In perfect trust. 

“There are too many!” He called out, taking a knife to the side with a loud pained growl that at the moment infuriated him more than anything. Milena claimed the arm, and then the head of his assailant in a grotesque spray of the Elf’s lifeblood. The scent of it claimed the air, the familiar metallic smell of battle.

“We are too far from the ships, we won’t make a retreat. We will have to make a stand.” Kjaran pushed her aside to parry and defend her back from a hostile sword, watching her spin gracefully to slam her shield into another’s face with a bone-crushing force. 

Kjaran racked his brain for a solution, content to surrender to the honor of Death, and yet something propelled him forward to make it through regardless of how his muscles burned and strained, limbs threatening to revolt from exertion. When he thought the hope was lost, a horn of a different sound rang out over the noise, calming the battle, making the Elves grow still and docile. He had to stop his sword mid-swing from claiming another when they lowered their weapons and turned toward the sound. A taller, broader Elf, an elder or leader perhaps, stood in the clearing with Jǫðurr in his grasp. The long, thin fingers of the man gripped his hair, a sword pressed against his man’s throat.

“Release him!” Kjaran roared, taking a hasty step toward them, brushing Milena off of his arm when she tried to stop him. He was bleeding from the side, too furious to care for his injuries as he met Jǫðurr’s eyes. He breathed hard, meeting Kjaran’s steely blue eyes as if to call him a fool. Maybe he was, but he meant it when he said he would die gladly for any of his men. 

“What have you brought here?” The man regarded Milena, ignoring his demand. His long black hair was pulled halfway back and braided rather elegantly, face sooted as some monster of Hel’s realm. 

“My Jarl has a judgment to pass on that man. You would be wise to let him go as the Northern Jarl requested.” Milena stepped beside Kjaran, chest still heaving with lungs on fire as his were. Normal men might have shrunk at the tone of her voice or the hard blue of her eyes but this man stood tall, proud as though he’d captured some prized beast.

“Foolish Maiden. He is not one of theirs or one of yours. Creatures under our Gods have spared him, and in allegiance to his Majesty, so will I. If he will stand down.” 

“Tell Jǫðurr to stand down.” Milena whispered, nudging Kjaran’s arm. “You are hurt, and they will not harm us further. He holds him in self-defense. Tell him to stand down and we will leave to tend to our wounded.” 

Kjaran blinked a moment, perplexed that this hulking Dark Elf held Jǫðurr with means to harm him out of self-defense. The other Elves dropped their weapons to the blood-soaked dirt and bowed to one knee amidst the carnage of that morning's battle. 

“Jǫðurr.” He spoke with a gentler command, his blonde comrade appearing just as confused as he dropped an ax to the dirt, and the Elf Commander slowly removed the blade of his sword from Jǫðurr’s neck. 

“You’ll allow us to take our wounded and bring these men for trial then?” Milena’s brow rose as she spoke, back straight and commanding. The Elven man did seem to deflate under it some. “Ragna will not be pleased that you delay Sefi’s audience with them.” 

His eyes seemed to shift between them, Jǫðurr looked half rabid still and ready to take off his head, but Kjaran gave him the slightest shake of his head. He was still baffled by these people who now bowed before a Carpenter, and Zephyr appeared from seemingly nowhere to lead Jǫðurr away. Their people gathered themselves, the items that hadn’t been raided, and helped the injured back to the path toward the boats. 

* * *

It’s a hard thing to halt a battle when three tribes are involved, and Milena had to give it to them that the Dark Elf knew how to disrupt and confuse the lot of them. Regardless, she took it as a win since chances they would have survived such an onslaught was very slim. Kjaran groaned in pain beside her, and she noted the blood seeping from his clothes with a frown. His eyes were like a Northern blizzard with the cold fury in them, still staring at the tall dark-haired man as his hoards slunk back into the forest. 

“Come on. We don’t want to be left here with that lot. I’ll gather herbs along the path to see to your wounds. Since you saw to mine.” 

Their eyes locked, but he remained silent, saying all he needed to with a hard swallow before he turned to limp down the path with his hand clamped onto his side. She cast a lingering glance behind her at the bloodied ground, littered with the wasteful fallen before she fixed the coldest of glares at the Elven man who stood there merely watching their retreat. Milena dared him with her eyes and knew they would give their fallen a proper celebration. When she returned home, she would make sure that Ragna saw to it. 

Nefir ruined a good cauldron to build a fast forge. He was beaten and a bit bruised but otherwise mostly unscathed while he helped to cauterize serious wounds while Jǫðurr and Zephyr helped with heavy lifting to finish preparing the boats to sail. If it hadn’t been one setback there was another, and Milena began to think perhaps the Gods were just that displeased by their presence. Another sign she’d chosen the wrong path in leading this journey, otherwise, these men would have merely died by the Kraken and she would have been none the wiser about Kjaran and how he made her feel. 

The air was full of groans and cries, screaming alongside the flurry of activity as those healthy enough tended to who they could, and scurried to prepare the ships to set sail. Kjaran stood solemnly near Nefir while he worked on more critical injuries, and Milena frowned to look at him, brows stern with his hand pressed tightly to his still bleeding side. She supposed that’s how he expressed pain. She and a few other of her crew had set to gather herbs on the way down to the beach, it was now that she looked at the gathered bundle in her hands and sighed. After everything, she had been so dead set on occupying one of the smaller knarrs on the way home to keep her distance from him, until the fool got himself hurt. 

Milena pulled a bowl from an open chest of supplies, things others were currently using to address the injured, and headed toward the shore to add a bit of saltwater and clean off a rock she’d use to mash the mixture into a salve Atla had taught them to make. As a curious woman, Sefi’s Mother had taken Atla in when she was young, always experimenting on methods of medicine and healing. She’d saved Milena’s life more than once, so learning a basic salve to stave off the fevers and illness that sometimes came with injuries like this was very important during the raids. 

Kjaran cast a stern glance at her approach, locked onto her as she stepped beside him on the sand and set the green paste aside, face tensed and wary. He seemed to shrink away when her fingers brushed the skin of his wrist, sticky with blood, to get him to remove his hand from the wound so she might inspect the damage for him. 

“You’ll need to take off that shirt.” She said about as clinically as she could muster given the circumstances. 

“I can do it myself.” Wincing, he carefully began to peel off his cloak and shirts, retiring himself to an old log or piece of driftwood a few feet from where Nefir tended to one of her Shield Maidens who had lost most of an arm. Screams rang loud at the hiss of his iron against jagged flesh to cauterize the wound, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burning meat. Milena offered a tight-lipped frown, moving to kneel in front of him in the sand to assess the damage, knots settling into her stomach and throat at the familiarity of his body. 

“Perhaps you can.” She argued, and Kjaran quickly gave up trying to shoo her away with a resigned sigh so she could gauge if any of his wounds would need searing shut. Turning to Nefir, she flagged him as he created a great cloud of steam to clean the iron he used for the next of their wounded. He nodded and placed the iron back into the ruined cauldron he’d made the makeshift forge out of and approached the two carefully. His face was blackened from his tools, hair pulled up in a knot on his head, but his brown eyes were worried. “Here, you are stronger than I. Let me do that while you hold him in place.” 

“I said, I can do it myself.” Kjaran growled as he pulled the leather belt from his trousers, biting it between his teeth and dangerously snatching the hot iron from Nefir’s grasp. Immediately, he pressed the thing into his side where the knife had stabbed him with a muffled roar. 

Nefir gave a knowing look to Milena who could only watch with morbid fascination as Kjaran endured, eyes rolling as though he might pass out. Methodically in three-second intervals, he pressed the iron against the wound, took a few deep ragged breaths and pressed again until the flesh was sufficiently seared. Sweat poured from his brow as he breathlessly handed the iron back to Nefir and his belt fell to the sand from between his teeth. It clearly wasn’t the first time he’d done this if the scolding look he gave Kjaran was anything to go by. 

“Water.” He demanded, wincing as he attempted to catch his breath. Milena gestured toward one of the Maidens offering a bit of water to those resting on the beach, giving thanks with a warm smile at the delivered cup and a few pieces of linen cut and stolen from the trunks of those that had fallen in battle. 

“Stubborn idiot.” She grumbled while he threw back the cup of water a bit too quickly. Kjaran glared icily at her and set the cup down at his feet with a pained groan, a glare that Milena returned with defiance. “You’ll let me put this balm on you ward off any illness before you even think of dressing.” 

“So demanding.” He chided without much humor. 

“I hope you believe me now. That some will not be pleased by your presence here. I think in some strange way Jǫðurr may have saved our lives.” Flickering an unamused glance back up at him, Milena shifted to his side with the bowl of salve she’d prepared in hand, unready to feel his skin beneath her fingers again. 

“You don’t know why?” She shook her head distractedly at his inquiry, taking a generous amount of the slimy green mixture onto her fingers and very tenderly applied it to the burned flesh. Kjaran hissed through his teeth, stomach clenching under her touch with a rightfully pained wince. “You never do get used to that.” 

“I don’t think you’re meant to.” she spoke dryly and wouldn’t look him in the face as she continued applying an even coat of the mixture over the wound. 

“I’ve dealt with worse.” 

“I can tell by these scars.” Milena bit her lip while she worked, gathering some of the linen of her fallen brothers and sisters to make bandages. 

“Not what I meant.” Kjaran muttered quietly. Her eyes snapped up toward him and her lips tensed at the implication, but she remained silent while she finished her task. “You’re quiet today.” 

“Observant as always.” She rolled her eyes and glanced up at his all too serious expression. Milena bound the wound the best she could and sat back on her heels with a sigh. “I have nothing more to say. Other than we needed to raise anchor and sail out long ago. We should board your ship so we can leave.” 

“Sailing with me are you?” He very slowly, and with difficulty, began to pull on his shirts, merely draping his cloak over an arm. Milena placed a hand on his chest to keep him from standing with a warning glare. 

“You’re still by all rights my prisoner until Sefi passes her judgment. That being said you will allow Nefir to help you to your ship. The rest of the able-bodied will aid others onto ships to establish rowing shifts. Thankfully we’re only a few days out.” He frowned but was left little choice in the matter, and Milena had no time to Mother a grown man. 

When they finally rose the anchors and were ready to set sail, the crews were silent, recovering, and the air held a solemn tension that Milena tried to lift with an equally solemn, but honoring song for their dead. Kjaran held his frustrations in silence, none of his men were now bound but instead of rope he was restricted by his injuries and forced to lie still to allow his wounds to heal. By her orders of course. 

Days grew long, though they were few, and the sky loomed with heavy ominous clouds that seemed to follow them from shore to shore. It wouldn’t be long now that the two mountains their settlement nestled between would come into view, and Milena would be forced into a whirlwind of politics and facing Asger, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, or ever would be. It was Zephyr to find her this evening, joining her as she gazed out over the waters ahead and the darker clouds that would no doubt stir some more turbulent weather. 

“I’ll admit that it’s difficult to navigate here.” The wind caused his copper curls to dance and billow elegantly over his face which was sort of refined in a manner different from other men. His voice seemed more elegant too, one of a proper Westerner, but otherwise, he held his own in the wild and brutal nature of their ways. Barely scathed after a hearty battle. 

“Not if you know how.” She offered a small smile, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. 

“I never said I didn’t know how.” Zephyr mused in return with only the smallest bit of amusement on his lips. “I never did properly thank you for saving my life.” 

“Somehow, I wanted to prove that regardless of our stance that we are not heartless. Outsider or not, you are my Brother under the same Gods.” 

“Even if I was born to believe in a secular entity?” 

“The fact that I found you in all that blackened water is proof enough for me that Odin has not cast you from favor. He brought you to Kjaran’s path those years ago with a purpose.” Peace Giving smiles were exchanged, his was quirky and charming and made his too green eyes sparkle with a sort of knowing as she mentioned his Jarl by name. “Njord is a fair God. I believe he smiles on your gifts to navigate the winds of his seas.” 

“I will pray to Njord, see if he answers, though the notion fills my spirit. Thank you.” His brilliant green eyes grew warm when he smiled, shedding their often bored dullness for something kind. “Have you not thought perhaps the same may apply to you? You came across our path for a reason also, don’t you think?” 

“I fear that since our paths did cross we’ve been met with nothing but misfortune.” Her face fell and Milena cast her eyes away from him.

“I cannot accept that now, after all that I’ve seen. In England, we have a phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place.” 

“Given the circumstances, I wish I could say it was a comfort.” Milena sighed tiredly, brushing off his inquisitive stare. “It’s nothing. We do the best we can for those we care about. It is a comfort enough that your Jarl has changed his motivations for my people.” 

“Whatever troubles you, fair Maiden, I believe that nothing occurs without a purpose.” Zephyr hesitated a moment but placed an uncharacteristically gentle hand on her shoulder. “Goodnight Milena.” 

“Rest well.” 

Familiar landscapes that had once been a cause for them to celebrate were dreadful, and their welcome home became darkened as a light misting rain began to fall, soaking them with a soft burden thunder rumbled low in the distance. With luck, they would breach the perimeter of their lands by nightfall, and arrive at her home sometime early dawn. 

The shelters were raised, and Milena was all too glad to allow Magnhildr to lead them through the impending storm. Kjaran lay just behind her, brooding because as much as his wound had healed, Milena still wouldn’t allow him to do much. His pale eyes fixed through the opening of the white enclosure toward Magnhildr and Nefir as they laughed and had a merry time as the light rain became more intense. She couldn’t help but think that it had been her once, to bring such uplifting spirits to her crews, but her heart remained heavy.

“Are you well today?” She didn’t look at him, but he knew Milena addressed him of course. There were few of them in that enclosure now, most were fixed at rowing stations. 

“As I can be.” Kjaran responded plainly. She thought maybe he looked at her, or maybe he too was transfixed on Mag while she glided around the boat with skill when the waves became more turbulent, laughing and smiling as she worked. 

“We will meet rougher waters soon, you should try and rest before then.” Milena had planned on taking a nap herself before the waves grew too high and she would need to be on the alert

“I have rested enough.” His tone alone made her turn to look at him, meeting his glacial stare before he rolled his eyes away. 

“Your cold tone will not sway me Jarl. Brood like a child all you want, but your body requires time to heal like everyone else.” 

“I thought you had nothing to say.” His tone became biting, and Milena knew he glared at her with poison but she refused to entertain it.

“I guess only you would be content to finish this journey in silence. All the better to plan out your trial I suppose.” She nestled down to rest, keeping her back toward him. To no surprise, Kjaran kept his silence. 

Milena woke much later to a commotion. It was dark and the ship tumbled over mountainous waves, lightning flashing and dancing along with the clouds beyond the tent she rest in. Some of her Maidens cheered, others cried out to the Gods for mercy, and Milena smirked in knowing as she crawled out into the beating rain. Kjaran had already made his way out onto the deck, comical how these four larger men huddled together with panic in their eyes. 

“There is something in the waves!” Nefir exclaimed, already gripping his rather worn smithing hammer with white knuckles. 

“Jormungand finds us!” Jǫðurr gripped Kjaran’s cloak, and Milena turned in the direction of his wide blue eyes to see if she was correct in what they were seeing. 

Lightning lit the sky, and as she turned to address a towering wave seemingly ready to crash toward him, two great eyes lit blue through the dark waters and the outline of a great horned dragon greeted her sights. Easy to mistake them of course, the Worlds Serpent a known enemy of the Gods would be a fearsome thing for anyone to behold if they didn’t know that this was no Jormungand. 

“Prepare the boar!” Milena called out with a wide grin, earning the poleaxed faces of Kjaran and his men. Her hair had long plastered to her skin as she bounded across the slippery wood of the deck in the direction of the great creature. “Row forward with care, Joot will not know this ship!” 

* * *

Kjaran had to look again. Was she truly rowing toward this beast? He wished there were stars so that he might pray for his Son to greet him, surely they would not escape death this time. But the woman beamed, and several Shield Maidens unwrapped the great boar Mag had cooked the night before they set sail, the one Nefir hadn’t stopped pining for since, though as he watched he understood it was perhaps an offering to this beast for some form of mercy. 

Milena began to make strange sounds with her voice, a high but low pitched tone that wavered like the sea. The great wave that should have crushed them dissipated unnaturally and he watched with a mutual horror of the men at his side when those illuminated blue eyes appeared very close to his ship. She smiled over at him, gesturing with a hand for him to come closer to her and Kjaran felt his bravery restore. 

“Cease rowing! We will drop anchor to ask for passage!” Mag called out, her voice strong through the patter of rain, and they sounded horns to signal their anchor. Milena exchanged a nod with her and began making that strange sound again. Her blue eyes shifted toward him, and she held out her hand in an offering to him that propelled him forward with his men following closely behind. The sound was soothing and rippled through his body like a gentle caress that relaxed his muscles and put him at ease until he noted two giant serpents' eyes glowing blue beneath the choppy waves that seemed to calm now that the creature was still. 

“Do not be afraid. Joot is an Ancient, and if you mean us no harm, he will not harm us.” 

“I thought my trial was with Jarl Sefi.” Kjaran whispered this and it brought her a great deal of amusement. 

“Storsjöodjuret is a guardian, not a judge. He serves Atla, Sefi’s Handmaiden and obeys her commands to control the mists around our settlement. He protects these waters, as they are the waters of our home.” Turning from him to address the dragon lying in wait below the tide, Kjaran couldn’t help but notice the slitted pupils were fixed on him, only shifting away when Milena made that sound again. She smiled affectionately and extended her hand out over the edge of the ship, and the dragon slowly began to raise its head. “We merely call him Joot.” 

Water rolled off the thing, difficult to see through the dark and rain, but Kjaran swore there was a slight iridescence to the dragon’s scales as its head emerged from the choppy sea. Joot was a horned thing with wisdom in his eyes, head larger than Kjaran’s already large warship and twice as terrifying. Zephyr and Jǫðurr clung to each other, teeth chattering and uttering a prayer to whatever God would listen while Nefir merely kept his distance in silent terror as the dragon brought his snout toward Milena’s extended hand and sniffed hot wind over them through his nostrils. 

“What is he doing?” Kjaran leaned forward and whispered to Milena who pressed her palm against Joot’s snout and pet the thing like it was a mere cat. 

“He is making sure I am familiar to him. This is important since I bring outsiders, hence the boar. Come, let him be familiar with you also.” She extended her free hand to him, and Kjaran swallowed but decided the gesture was worth it just to feel her hand in his. “Joot, this is Kjaran. He is to meet with Sefi if you will guide us home safely.” 

She pressed his palm to the cold, scaly flesh of the dragon’s nose, her palm warm over his own. He could only watch the smallest bit of peace on her face in the form of soft pink lips and softer blue eyes. Hot air blasted them when the beast grunted and pulled Kjaran’s attention from the savage beauty beside him to the wide serpent eyes of Joot. His throat ran dry and the beast did not peer into his soul but sought the intentions of his heart, and Kjaran felt read. 

“I would have met Hel to bring her back to your people safe. I seek nothing more than betterment for my people, and hers.” He clenched his jaw, and after a moment of locking eyes with the horned beast, Joot’s blue eyes widened and shifted just slightly back over to Milena, and back to him as though he were met with some shocking realization. Perhaps he could read his heart and knew his feelings better than Kjaran did. 

“He brings you a boar, roasted as you like.” Milena added, motioning with a free hand to the Maidens to bring it forward. Kjaran swore Nefir whimpered in defeat as they prepared to toss the tasty cooked pig toward Storsjöodjuret. The dragon huffed once more, and she laughed, moving to further pet him. “There were no cows for us to bring, or you know I would have gladly brought it for you.” 

Joot huffed again and nudged the boat, making Kjaran quickly withdraw his hand to catch Milena as she fell into his chest. He swore that dragon looked amused as she gripped the fur lining of his cloak to steady herself. 

“Does he know something we do not?” He muttered to Milena with a raised brow, only glancing down at her when they pushed the cooked boar overboard much to Joot’s delight.

“It is likely.” She spoke flatly and released herself from his arms, turning with a scolding look toward the dragon. “So you will help us home swiftly then?” The beast swallowed audibly and seemed to hum in approval that sounded more like a low rumbling growl. “Good. Now enough nonsense, Sefi is waiting and you don’t want to cause Atla any worry.” 

“You have my thanks Storsjöodjuret.” Kjaran offered, earning a loud offended roar. “Okay. Joot, if you prefer.” 

The dragon roared again and sunk beneath the waves once more. Kjaran and his men all watched the massive beast as it swam out behind the fleet, and Milena sounded the horns to lift their anchors. 

“Joot? Really?” Jǫðurr inquired with a laugh, brushing it off as though his teeth weren’t just chattering in fear mere moments prior. 

“I suggest you all hold on.” Mag smirked, and Milena moved to hold onto the same bit of rope as her fellow Shield Maiden. “You want to know how we sway the tide?” 

At this, they all looked behind to see Joot swimming quickly behind them, creating large waves that would push them quickly forward and into a passage of sea that seemed rocky and hard to sail. Of course, Milena and Mag showed no fear, only joyful laughter as the fleet was rocked forward over the waves and the rest of the women cheered, while them men scrambled to hold onto what they could. 

“I keep to my original notion that these women are fucking mad!” Nefir offered over the commotion, wrapping his arms around the mast. 

“I second his thought.” Zephyr called out, holding on to Nefir much to his disdain. Especially since Jǫðurr was now hooting and hollering along with the Maidens from the exhilarating thrill of it. Kjaran merely kept his eyes cast behind them as the dragon seemed to continue guiding them with calculated care that held him fascinated. 

“We’ll be there by dawn.” Milena spoke behind him, and a new worry had cast itself throughout her blue eyes. “And by dawn, you will be a stranger to me. I hope that is clear Jarl, because I have my path to walk, and much has yet to be decided for yours.” 

“You will never be a stranger to me, Milena. I will carry you, carry these days down my path as wares that I will never trade.” 


	7. Agreements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* Glimpses into an abusive relationship, very non-graphic coerced sexual content.

It felt like years had passed since her eyes graced her proud settlement, the timber longhouses with its columns of smoke rising into the somewhat balmy air. An excited crowd of her people gathered to greet warriors after a long journey, no doubt eager to catch a glimpse of the outsiders Milena brought home to them along with a very proud addition to their fleet. She remembered only years ago how she'd run down the docks and into Asger's arms, his eyes twinkling like polished peridots to go with his broad smile she once found so charming. There was love and warmth in their reunion once, where even from a distance his rigid form made her approach her home with trepidation.

Fittingly the sky was overcast, Asger standing to the side against one of the flagpoles with his arms crossed, lips tensed in distaste as she stepped onto the sturdy dock with Jarl Kjaran towering close behind. He'd probably first notice the absence of her ship, that she sailed at the head of the massive fleet in a huge vessel that he'd never seen before, and that fittingly it belonged to her captive Jarl. Asger would then notice that these supposed prisoners were not in binds, walking freely behind her and Magnhildr down the main dock which had since undergone some Spring repairs. 

Milena wondered if she should pretend to be rejoiced to see her husband, fair-haired and beautiful, and yet he glared at their homecoming with such loathing laced within his washed-out green eyes. Asger appeared anything but pleased to see her, and yet the occupants of their settlement cheered excitedly at the large fleet's arrival, all eager to catch a glimpse of strangers from a foreign shore. So she approached her husband warily, a smile forced onto her lips as she came up on her toes to place a kiss to his sun-kissed cheek. He'd barely noticed her, too busy glaring daggers toward the Northern Jarl who at least had half a mind to keep his distance, though she swore she could feel his eyes boring into her back. Finally, Asger shifted his hostile gaze toward her, and the guilt took hold of her stomach and squeezed. 

"Gone for weeks, and all you bring us are more ships and a hoard of men?" Asger threatened, questioned, and accused her with his glare alone, moving away from her attempts to show him a wife's affection. 

"I'm home much sooner than I expected, and this is the way I am received? I had hoped my husband would be glad to see me safe." Her eyes darted between his, pleading with him not to cause a scene. He hadn't wanted her to leave in the first place, and while she'd decided to honor their marriage contract, a decision based on weakened resolve, built from the guilt she'd brought on herself, and shame she'd brought to them both. Asger had more of a right to be angry than he knew, and Milena struggled even now with how to move forward. She'd wronged her husband deeply, and it hadn't felt wrong at all. 

"I see your ship is absent you witless woman. I suppose your lack of fertility has served you well seeing as your prisoners wear no rope. Not sure if I should be furious or relieved that you aren't with child since you've chosen to be so hospitable to these men." He scoffed, and as he spoke Milena's eyes grew even wider with her growing rage. "Perhaps I should be happy that your nights were warmed by-" 

The gratifying crack of her hand against Asger's cheek halted his words, resulting in a few passing and rather nauseating thoughts. Anger flooded and impaired her reasoning, but guilt and fear plagued her as well because again, her foolish Husband wasn't wrong in his trespasses, not this time. Milena didn't think it possible that she could be carrying another man's child, but it almost sickened her further to think that it really could be that she was to blame for their impotence. A low growl rumbled in Asger’s throat, eyes clear and pale and furious when he wrapped hard fingers around her injured arm without care, making her cry out in pain. 

"Is it somehow my doing that you ran off before the Raids to bring outsiders into our Clan?" He jerked her forward with bruising force, causing red to flare behind Milena's blue eyes and her fingers twitch toward the hilt of her sword as pain pulsed through her arm. He deserved to be shunned, cast out and ruined- yet her voice of reasoning told her that she did too. Asger at least deserved to be knocked into the next Realm of Midgard, because a more permanent solution still seemed too extreme, even for her. Magnhildr was likely to disagree at this point, even if she heard her friend behind her trying to reason with Kjaran from interfering. Even that bastard was being too obvious about what had transpired. 

"You will let me go Farmer." She growled low, menacingly, as she attempted to pull her arm free of his iron grip. "Or I'll see to it that you plow nothing, or no one EVER again." 

"You insult me-" 

"NEVER speak to me of insults Asger. We both know the insult you bring to our marriage bed and spread it like illness to the entire colony. I cringe to think of what other ailments you might bring us in time, but if you'll excuse me...Jarl Sefi is expecting our prisoners. You'll have plenty of time to insult me further later,  _ Husband _ ." 

Ripping her arm from Asger's grasp, she turned to find Kjaran and his men standing tensely at the foot of the main road. Mag's hand gripped Kjaran's arm, speaking in hushed tones to discourage his interference with their marital spat. He looked positively rabid, eyes locked onto Asger as though he tried to strike him dead, nostrils flaring with heavy breath in an all too obvious manner that further set her stomach into knots. 

Milena turned with a lift of her chin, gesturing for Mag to usher the men toward Sefi's longhouse for introductions so The Thing could begin. Distant as he stayed, she knew Asger followed, as curious as he was suspicious of the Northern men that had already begun to mingle with the people of their settlement. Atla greeted them at the door, oceanic eyes wide at the Giants for men that accompanied Milena and Mag in their crowded procession down the main street. 

"So many of them Milena..." She gasped, awed by the fleet spread wide over the fjord. They'd lost some ships sure, but the sight was impressive, to say the least. 

"Yes, these are their leaders. Jarl Kjaran, Nefir, Jǫðurr, and Zephyr. They should be sufficient to speak on behalf of the rest of these men and women." She smiled warmly, gesturing toward them as she spoke as though they were friends and not her prisoners. 

"Of course. Sefi will see you right away. You know she is always anxious to see you returned to us safely. She's been at the edge of her throne all day waiting to hear all about your journey and your captives." Atla shifted, observant as always and obviously perplexed by these men who walked with Milena so willingly, and without binds to keep them. 

"Yes, there is a story there," She explained, a friendly hand at Atla's back to usher her back into the longhouse, "I think Sefi will be very interested in what the Jarl has to say." Milena glanced back at Kjaran now, the perfect image of calm and strength, and hoped that he wasn't truly an idiot. Kjaran disclosed to her that night, that his plans had changed, and he wouldn't pose any challenge for Jarl Sefi's lands. Sefi's powers were far more mysterious than hers or Mag's, far stronger, and potent enough to protect them all. 

* * *

Kjaran unclenched his jaw and drew a deep breath. It wasn't the time to dwell on anger from the scene Milena's spineless bastard of a Husband caused upon their arrival. He knew Mag was right in her hushed words of calm that Milena could handle herself. He knew that without a doubt in his mind after the past weeks, yet his hands still shook with rage from wanting to rip Asger's head clean off his neck. He'd felt safe, protected by her on more than one occasion during their voyage, like they had each other's backs. Nixies, Krakens, Draugr, Elves...supposed jovial Dragons- Milena didn't blink in the face of any of them, didn't hesitate to throw herself after Zephyr and face death. But here, where she should have felt at home was where Kjaran felt the need to protect her the most. 

She scarcely looked at him but he could see the pain in her eyes, feel the tension between them at the base of his spine. Kjaran wasn't sure when he decided that his path had been somehow altered, set right. All he knew was somehow his path lead to her. Milena glanced back at him, shifting her eyes behind him in time to see her Swine for a Husband scoff and turn on his heel to head back toward the settlement. He had to give Asger credit in one thing, and one thing only. His intuition that something had shifted was almost too keen, perhaps the product of living in such mysterious lands of strange magic that Kjaran had yet to comprehend. 

The longhouse was warm, well lit by a long fire pit in the center where two behemoths for cats slumbered at the foot of a white, fur draped high-backed throne carved with the likeness of Odin's wife Frigg. This woman he supposed would be the Jarl Sefi had him poleaxed as she was such a small, lithe little thing sitting so regally in silver, contrasting the dark wood and dim lighting. Her hair was nearly a white blonde, a similar shade to his own but there was some gold in it. Eyes wide and bluer than blue, curious, soft and yet pointed like the threat of a finely sharpened knife. Jarl Sefi was some ethereal being of fair and unblemished skin, like some nymph transported from the Moon itself. She was breathtaking, small as she was her body was curved under the white robes and furs she wore, primed for children, yet she held a Maiden's purity. 

Beside her sat two women instead of a Husband, both dark-haired and mysterious to say the least. One woman, long hair like a raven's wings stared oddly at Jǫðurr from her seat, the firelight dancing over her contrasting pale skin and becoming lost to the red dress she wore. Unblinkingly almost, she set hard violet eyes onto the quirky boatsmith as though she saw nothing else in that somewhat crowded room. The other girl had greeted them at the door, hair the strange color of blueberries worn long in a thick braid down her back. She had a gentle face, sweet and seemingly sheltered kind blue eyes. It was clear she probably didn't know of life outside the realm of this settlement, though Milena described her as a curious, sea gifted woman who controlled the mists, and handler to the dragon Kjaran still swore had to be Midgard's serpent. 

His eye fell again on the proud idol of Frigg, and it all pieced together for him rather quickly. Kjaran didn't have a solid plan to present to Sefi. Nothing that wouldn't deter her from ordering his head on a stake and the damnation of his clan. After spending the time he had with Milena, the sins he allowed to transpire, and these strange notions toward her he knew he couldn't stand before her Jarl and simply demand her seat. Demand that she feed, and house his people and soil all they'd been through these past weeks. That was not the path meant for him, and Kjaran knew that now. 

Erland was Odin-blessed and unmarried, he refused to believe that being placed before an idol and pure embodiment of Frigg herself was merely a coincidence, his mind racing to piece together a plan that would allow his people to prosper, protect his fleet, and his King. Milena stepped forward, her arm brushing his in approach. Sefi's eyes nearly glittered when she leaned forward, a failed attempt at stoicism to hide her excitement to see the weary Shield Maiden. 

"Jarl Sefi, I bring you Jarl Kjaran of the Northmen and his close council. In refusal of my initial terms, the Jarl requested an audience with you. I bring him without binds because he claims to be here of his own will. I can vouch for him as a man of honor if nothing else, we might have died had his men not been present. I know without Nefir I would have lost Mag. However, he continues to refuse my offer which is why I risk the threat of angering the Outer Guardians and bring outsiders to our Clan for your decisioning." A small smile slipped his lips, as the large white cat had padded over silently, nudging at her hand with impatience for her attention. Milena absently scratched his head as she spoke, perhaps a bit of comfort in a rather tense testimony. It did nothing to break the utter calm he felt in his choice.

"I am aware of what Kjaran of the North has come for, but I make no plans of relinquishing my seat." Sefi also had a very kind face, smiling warmly even through her blunt statement. Milena had caved, kneeling to the floor to embrace the large white feline while the black one imposed on Sefi for attention. It eyed him, either purring or growling, he couldn't tell. "Does the Jarl have nothing to say for himself?" 

Kjaran hadn't realized he was staring, watching Milena's every move as she buried her face in the thick white fur of her companion, holding the imposing feline tight. He felt guilty then, that he'd allowed her to commit adultery, soil her reputation further than the dishonor her husband brought to her house. Mostly, he felt guilty that he allowed her to return at all, to this man so unworthy of her that it was unjust to his belief that a woman like her should know such disgrace. She'd have no choice but to stay with Asger now, and Kjaran became all too ready to return to the North. His plans became so evident then, so clear.

"I approach you with respect, Jarl to Jarl." Kjaran answered after a beat of more silence. He peered behind him toward his men, almost apologetically for what he was about to do. Mostly he'd seek their counsel, confide in them and value their opinions. This was something he had to do on his own though, for if something went wrong and someone lost their head that day, it would be him. He couldn't help Milena, undo their sins or save her from a marriage that outside looking in, appeared damned and violent. She'd kill him one day, of that he was certain. But it wasn't his battle to fight. "I would like to request your audience in private if I may, Jarl Sefi." 

"I'm no fool. I'll need guard present if you think you'll-"

"You may bind my hands if you'd wish, take my weapon. Ensure that if anyone loses their life in our solitude, it would be me." Sefi's brows raised to her hairline, glancing at his offered hands with a complacent swallow. Kjaran could feel each disbelieving eyes lock onto him in that crowded room, Milena crouched at his side no exception. 

"Kjaran..." Zephyr stepped forward, concern and outrage in his green eyes, stopped only by Nefir's hand at his chest, barely discernibly shaking his head to discourage trying to stop their admittingly stubborn Jarl. Sefi watched intensely, the raven-haired girl at her side had still barely blinked or looked away from Jǫðurr who seemed just as intrigued about her, displaying a lack of concern for anyone else's presence entirely. It was an alarming exchange really, one Kjaran would ask about later should he live. He set his eyes hard on Sefi, awaiting her response to his request. The other woman beside her, Atla he thought he heard, looked furious. 

"Very well." The woman snapped her wide eyes to her Jarl in outrage, whispers flittering through the room over the crackle of the fire over the decision. The lithe little Jarl motioned with her hand, a brief order for Milena to bind him, whispering to the two women at her side to apparently clear the room. Kjaran moved into position near one of the support beams in front of the throne, wrapping his arms around the pole and offered his hands to Milena. 

"We must stop meeting like this." She met his eyes and held them for the first time since they graced their shores, wrapping and tying the robe a bit more securely than she had even on the ship. Clearly, she did not trust him alone with her Chieftain, but her hands were steady, fingers brushing over his with purpose while his wrists were tightly bound together. There was a question to her indigo eyes, as though she asked him silently what the Hel he was doing.

"Trust me." He whispered, barely audibly, but he knew she'd hear him. Milena gathered the white cat, locking eyes with the graceful, kind-faced woman on her fur padded throne. He didn't watch her leave, couldn't move well enough this way, and Kjaran thought it was for the best. He would relish the feel of her fingers on his like he relished a singular night before he hoped he could negotiate his case, and head back North. 

"So. Jarl Kjaran, Chieftain of the Northern Seas...King Killer. What is it you wish to discuss in solitude from the prying ears of my tribune?" She didn't stand but leaned forward in a casual, girlish manner. Clearly eager to hear his case. 

"I think you need to stop hiding." Sefi's eyes widened, she froze and gestured for him to continue with a graceful motion of her hand. "My King, YOUR King is without a Wife. Men are mostly absent here, mostly elderly or oddly domestic. Your house is under the sign of Frigg, King Erland under Odin. It would be a smart match and smarter power play over sea, land, and men." 

"You did not just endure the trials that you have to get here, just to marry me off." Sefi laughed at the absurdity of it, but Kjaran figured it was that or lose his head along with most of Erland's fleet. Not that his King would be thrilled about proposing marriage on his behalf but Sefi was truly an extraordinary creature. Any man could only dream of being lucky enough to gain a wife of such beauty and power. Another thing for people to constantly remind him that he could have taken for himself. Kjaran had no use for a King's title and while Sefi was ideal, he had other unattainable preferences when it came to a wife.

"Perhaps I did. Maybe it is for the betterment of not only your own Clan but for all of the Northmen of the world outside of this one. I don't believe in a coincidence that I made this journey, have seen the things that I have, and come to stand before you without purpose. King Erland would come if he knew that I was here." 

"And would your King Erland bring the rest of his warships to siege us? To me it appears we give him a perfect opportunity to carry out your initial plans." She'd sat back, twisting a lock of her white-blonde hair around a delicate finger. Her cobalt eyes gleamed dangerously, untrusting and somehow more deadly than her otherwise naive appearance suggested. The black cat she'd been stroking sat up on her haunches and nearly glared at him with supernatural intelligence. 

"He wouldn't. Not at the risk of my life." 

"Are you so certain of your value to him? From what I have seen from afar, he should see you as a threat. Your hordes could take King Erland out with ease, allowing you to take his seat as King. Power suits you Jarl, not many are able to stomach the trials you've known." He swallowed hard, attempting to keep the hard edge out of his face, unnerved that this girl seemed to know so much about him. “Don’t think I’m unaware of the blood you’ve shed.” 

"I do not want it. The Gods have claimed Erland as our rightful King, and I'm not foolish enough to seek their wrath. I have used the power I have to maintain fealty to him, and protection of him. If I am right, then the protection I offer him, would be yours as well as protection of all the clans of Northmen from the outside. The North is a hard place, my men are strong, far more resilient than those I have seen here under your protection." 

"Interesting. You're saying if I marry this King you say is so Odin-blessed, that I would gain your protection and fleets under my command? I fail to see how this benefits you Jarl, certainly, you have another agenda..." Kjaran had a hard time keeping Sefi's eyes, managing somehow even as they became knowing like a young girl with information she maybe shouldn't have. 

"Admittingly yes." He sighed, his many desires of land and conquer from before seemed so small in light of a newer want he had no place to ask for. It wasn't his to covet, but he could still provide for his people without obtaining their lands. "Far North it is cold. The land is less fertile and our population growing. I would ask that you open your shores to trade with us, perhaps make space for some of my people to relocate. You would have my fleet at your command then, and I would negotiate my portion of any wealth gained from joint raids." 

"You do bring me a hard scenario to turn down. I do think I will summon this King of yours regardless because if you leave here alive or not, you will bend to Milena's terms. We'd be keeping your fleet, so this King Erland can take you back North to your settlement." 

"I will allow Erland to negotiate for our fleet. Just know that if anyone seeks to harm him, my men and I will act accordingly. Regardless of the consequences." Sefi smiled at the hard conviction of his tone, stroking the large black cat in front of her with languid strokes, something foreseen in her big blue eyes.

"There is something else you desire Jarl. Don't think I'm unaware of how your motives have shifted since you embarked on this journey to my shores. Honor, wealth, power, and land, are what all Norsemen seek in attempts to appease the Gods... Did you seek family as well when you sought to take over my lands?" Her brow raised, a girlish smile on her features as they softened into something knowing and beautiful.

"I'm not sure I understand." 

"Milena's fealty to me is powerful, as much if not more so than the loyalty you have for your King. I wouldn't part with her protection." Sefi's smile broadened then, appeased that Kjaran seemed to squirm and shift under the kindness and knowledge of her cobalt eyes. The feline beast uttered a protesting sound when she stopped petting her, leaning forward in favor of observing him. "Every man in our Clan mourned the week she married Asger, not only is she beautiful beyond compare but powerful. I saw the way you look at her, the longing for a married woman is dangerous Jarl Kjaran."

"I covet no man's wife." Kjaran frowned, gesturing with his eyes at the knotted rope around his wrists. "You have mine and my men's full cooperation. We are weary from the journey and being bound so long. Surely these are no longer necessary." Sefi barely nodded, likely that she misunderstood his shift in the conversation for guilt. Truly, he was self-aware of his affection for her, and all the more aware of his place, Jarl or not. 

"A woman in my seat cannot be too careful in the presence of men. But you returned Milena to me intact, in the face of many trials I'll grant you that credit." She stood, comically short in comparison, but the grace in which she held herself intimidated. Brandishing a knife from a belt of dark leather cinching the waist on a white linen gown, she cut his ropes to free him, taking a beat to stare into his face a bit too knowingly. Kjaran felt a cold stab of guilt, but no remorse for what happened that night at the hot springs, only that it seemed to complicate things for her, and left him with a sense of wanting to live that night for the rest of his life. Kjaran was a reasonable man, realistic and accepted it for what it was. "I will set up lodging for you and your men, and in the meantime, a raven will be sent North for your King. We will utilize the skills of your men, and any sign of trouble will land you prisoner once more, or executed." 

"You have my word as Jarl and my gratitude for your hospitality. You'll get no trouble from me, or my men. I'll see to it." She nodded, sheathing the knife to her side once more. Kjaran decided he liked Sefi, she was imposing despite her petite size and graceful beauty. The smile she offered suggested a forgiving soul as she offered her warmth to a man who had initially intended to raid her shores. 

"Rest well Kjaran. You have lost many of your men, we've lost ships, and some of our Maidens. We'll feast tonight in their honor, I hope you'll join us." Sefi turned then, a small dismissive wave of her hand and headed toward the door. "I'll have your weapons returned to you. Do not make me regret it. I risk greater wrath to us all by allowing you here. Some who do not bend to our Gods may disagree with my decisions, and so that risk will fall upon you. Because no man would survive should other clans learn of us." 

Something about the way she said it left him with little room to argue, not that he would have since he was also left extremely unsettled by her warnings. Kjaran followed her toward the door, inhaling a deep breath when he stepped out into the dimming light of day. A crowd of his crew and closest friends greeted him along with Sefi's council, mostly looking worn and ready for ale, and rest. They all stared wide-eyed at his state of freedom, standing silently behind Sefi's smaller form respectfully in wait for her to address the masses. 

"These men are free for now. Restore their belongings and offer them shelter in exchange for their services. They are guests of your Jarl, and under my protection until further notice." Sefi turned to go back inside, glancing up at Kjaran with a smile once before looking over her shoulder at the other girls. "Ragna, Atla, I require your counsel. Milena, please see to our Northern Jarl's comfort and report to me when you can." 

With that, the petite girl disappeared through the timber door trailing her fur-trimmed embroidered cloak behind her. The two dark-haired women, Ragna and Atla shuffled after her with seemingly perplexed expressions and hushed whispers. The low murmur of the crowd began to dissipate while his men departed to gather their things, and the people began offering their homes for shelter. 

"Nefir, Jǫðurr... there is room for you in my home," Magnhildr spoke up, almost sheepishly when Nefir turned to acknowledge her with a warm smile. Kjaran wondered if something had transpired between them as well. They too were a convenient match, both immensely powerful as they were kind. "And don't you dare try anything." She added in Jǫðurr's direction, an electric flicker of her emerald eyes to his was enough to prevent him from testing her. Jǫðurr grinned and placed his hands in the air in surrender. 

"Don't worry about me. I'll be at your taverns drinking ale while you two go fuck each other senseless." He stared at their bewildered expressions before scoffing and turning on his heel to find the closest watering hole. "Don't look at me like that, you've been fucking since before the damned Kracken...you forget that I had to sleep in the tent next to you. Or TRY to sleep." 

Jǫðurr continued to mutter to himself down the road, leaving a scarlet colored Mag and rather smug Nefir behind him. Milena nudged the taller warrior with her elbow, a sly grin spreading to her lips as she motioned Kjaran to follow her with a nod of her head, eyes locked onto Mag who only grew a brighter flush. He should have known better the way those two always spoke so intimately. Kjaran rolled his eyes skyward, and once more found himself under Milena's care. 

* * *

Magnhildr only lived a few houses down from the house she shared with Asger. Nefir and Jǫðurr would stay with her, and Milena had arranged for Kjaran and Zephyr to stay across the street at the house of an older gentleman who had long lost his family. She took care of him sometimes, checked in to make sure he'd eaten and had plenty of ale and tobacco to bide his time. He was sweet and often gave her reprieve from Asger's accusations and the tension in her own house with fantastical stories of his own. She cleared her throat and finally allowed herself to look at him. 

"We should talk." The soft sound of his voice, low enough that Zephyr wouldn't hear, made her back go rigid. Kjaran glanced down at her with his eyes alone and tensed his lips. 

"There is nothing to discuss." She hissed quietly, glaring up at him as she opened the door to the old man's home. Likely he was at a tavern, sitting by the fire telling the younger generation tales of his life, and already drunk. Milena exhaled through her nose, the nervous look in Zephyr's green eyes spoke that he was nothing more than privy that something might have happened and he was all too eager to get as far away from the fallout as possible. "This is my home, Jarl. I'd appreciate it if you did nothing to disrupt it." 

He nodded, seeming to understand the double meaning of her words, a threat regardless of the intent. Milena felt annoyed, troubled, utterly lost when she knew she should have felt at home amongst the familiar timber homes and smells of fire and roasting meat, soil and soap. Without her ship, she felt homeless, and restless, and terrified. 

"We'll remain on our best behavior Maiden, I thank you for your hospitality. And for your help and sacrifices to get us here safely." She nodded, his indifference should have been welcome but it felt cold as the waters that consumed her ship.

"Milena." Words died on her parted lips at the biting sound of her husband in the doorway to their home behind her, just across the narrow dirt road. His voice raised hairs on the back of her neck, and she exhaled a held breath through her nose, her eyes lingering on Kjaran perhaps a bit too long. The tall Jarl glared over her head at Asger's intrusion, and Milena couldn't help but feel like his slate blue eyes were a far cry from discreet about their sins. 

"I'll be by for supper Husband. Sefi asked that I escort our guests and report back to her briefly. " Finally, Milena turned her back on Kjaran to face Asger, sauntering toward him with mock interest. Again she found his pale green eyes locked across the street in some form of a silent standoff with a man a full head taller, twice as broad, and twice as bloodthirsty. 

"Hurry home Wife, your work has not ended until I've filled you with child. We feast for the fallen tonight, and I am eager to celebrate your return." Possessing hands grabbed at her, but Milena was quick to pull away. Outrage lacing her wide eyes that stung with tears that threatened to fill them. 

"Not a discussion for our guests to hear Asger. Certainly, you celebrated my absence plenty...perhaps our own bed is still warmed." Her hands shook, and she fought the quivering of her bottom lip as Asger's eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. 

"Hurry home Wife." Milena hadn't ever heard his tone so icy, his challenging glare flickering from her back to Kjaran who lingered in the street far passed his welcome. "And Milena, you should call off your wolf. Either you've enchanted him beyond reason with that voice of yours, or that pathetic look in your guilty eyes confirms that you have no place to accuse. Regardless, he should tuck his tail and learn his place here. So hurry home Wife, so that I can reaffirm that you're mine while the rest of the town celebrates your victory."

Milena trembled with fury, taking deep breaths through her nose as Asger retreated inside without so much as a backward glance. Ignoring Kjaran completely, she took a hurried stride through darkening streets toward her safe haven of Sefi's longhouse. 

Ragna stopped her pacing when she stepped inside the main hall, warmly lit and ready to receive guests, and the apologetic eyes of her friends all fell to her. Magnhildr was seated by the fire with Arti in her lap, purring loudly and no doubt shedding his long white fur on the fine weave of her dark attire. Atla sat dutifully at the foot of Sefi's throne, stroking Luna's dark fur while Ragna had apparently been pacing while indulging them in information via one of her infamous rants. They all sipped wine, and Sefi was quick to pour Milena a cup in her approach offering a sympathetic smile when she offered her a silver horn. 

"I am sorry about your ship. I know what it meant to you, but I am glad you've returned to us unharmed." 

"Mostly unharmed." Milena began, gulping the sweet wine perhaps a bit too fast after everything. She was grateful the others were present, or she may have crumbled at Sefi's feet. "I asked the Gods for a path... it seems they have spoken." 

Mag frowned, distractedly running her fingers through Arti's fur. She knew and advised that Milena go through with the divorce, also knowing that the stubborn Shield Maiden was set in her decision that her ship's demise had been a sign of wrath that she hadn't listened to her Husband. Hadn't stayed home to keep trying for children, and let whatever threat coming for them die at the hands of Nixies and Krakens and all of the creatures of Midgard's magic they didn't understand. Knowing Kjaran and his men now, Milena was glad she hadn't let them die. Ships could be rebuilt over time, a warning well received to let so many people have honor in death another day, for another purpose. She told herself it was worth it to let them live.

Sefi frowned, filling her cup once more with worry in her eyes. She was Milena's oldest and dearest friend, they'd die for each other so it troubled Sefi that she knew something else was off aside from wrecked ships and marriages. It troubled Milena more that she couldn't tell her, or anyone what happened with Kjaran, especially how she felt about what happened and how she couldn't stop thinking about it, or him. 

"You asked that I report?" Milena offered, taking a more dignified sip of wine, lowering into the seat beside Mag at the fire so she could pet her cat as well. Sefi rolled her eyes and gestured at Ragna who waited rather impatiently to be allowed to continue what she'd seen. "I see... apologies for keeping you waiting Ragna." 

"You have brought us much more than men and ships you realize." Ragna was direct, a jarring aspect to have in a seer who could deliver news in such manners but she'd been around so long they were used to it. "He isn't human." 

"Kjaran?" Milena asked before her brain could process and Ragna stared at her like she had a second head. She really needed to work on being discreet about things, especially around a seer. 

"No... The shorter one, the one with short hair... pretty face." Her dark violet eyes narrowed on Milena, almost menacing looking the way the soot rimmed her eyes and she fingered one of her dark braids. Ragna always donned a red gown of fabrics far finer than their looms could weave, her cloak black and adorned with the lost feathers of her ravens. So many feathers, in fact, it was easy to believe the birds to be ancient. Sometimes Milena believed the woman was more intimidating than Mag when provoked. 

"Carpenter? Mouth worse than an English Sailor at sea for three months? That's Jǫðurr. Hardly anything less than ordinary Ragna. I'll give you that he is beautiful but..." She stopped her betraying mouth, drowned her words and thoughts with her wine. The Seer likely knew at this point and Milena didn't want to entertain her further. 

"Yes! Carpenter with a rather dull name, Jǫðurr and somehow blessed by Freyr." Ragna began to pace again, and Milena grew dreading but anxious to get home. She wouldn't have been surprised if Asger did something foolish to antagonize Kjaran, or burst through the doors himself to ensure she was actually with Sefi. Regardless she drank her wine and listened as the Seer began her rant. "Long ago, the woods and mountains were occupied with tribes of Elves as we know them. Light Elves of the Wood, and Dark Elves of rock and iron who dwelled with Dwarves that forged our powerful weapons. Supposedly, the Elves of Light died out, but they were skilled with wood and Earth, playful with Loki's trickery. Boatsmith's beauty and skill is no coincidence." 

"You're saying Jǫðurr is an Elf?" Mag raised her brow, nearly laughing at the notion but stopped when no amusement reached Ragna's face. 

"I come from a long line of Dark Elves Mag... even if he is of the light, I know my own kind." She paused to take a drink, the firelight reflecting in her violet eyes. "We look like anyone, fight like anyone, and though the Elven people still dwell in the forest it's no surprise to me that the Elf King God himself would bless such a Prince. Jǫðurr has been displaced from his own realm since the womb, hidden perhaps for his own safety. Freyr is a bringer of prosperity, and... fertility. I will know him." 

"You will...know him?" 

"As in you're going to fuck him?" Mag interjected, snorting over a sip of her wine. Ragna naturally turned a bit flushed and rolled her eyes. Of course, the tall Shield Maiden just spent weeks near Jǫðurr, and knew what a handful he could be. 

"He is one of my own kind, I have waited to meet another and well... perhaps I can honor our people with his child. A bond between the light and dark would be most powerful." Milena watched the Seer of Ravens take an uneasy sip of wine with wide eyes, easy to see how they might have made a smart match. She was always good at seeing such things, the product of being a daughter of Freya she supposed. It made sense to her then, his beauty was different than the rest of the men from Kjaran's fleet, and they had, in fact, mentioned his strange origin, or lack thereof. 

"Yes Ragna...please, know him." Sefi grinned, a wicked and knowing gleam in her eye that made Ragna glare hotly at the Jarl. 

"Says our Chieftain who may marry a King and earn her place as Queen." Magnhildr gave a jovial toast, and Milena promptly choked on a mouthful of wine. 

"Erland is coming?" She gasped, a hesitant smile forming on her lips. "I am surprised Jarl Kjaran agreed to negotiate, but won’t that further anger...her?" 

"He was adamant that his intentions toward us, intrusive as they were, were all for his people who are becoming dire with need. He's admirable in his foolish ambitions, well-meaning it seems, but I hadn't quite planned on having him attempting to marry me off. Hildr is a chance I am willing to take. For all her fury she still holds affection for my bloodline. Surely even she isn’t immune to reason." 

"Well, he didn't lie. It is well known that King Erland is well loved by Odin himself. His settlement to the south is warm and blessed conveniently by a great ash tree. He is wealthy, powerful, and unwed currently. I see no coincidence in Kjaran crossing our path." Ragna's violet eyes fell knowingly on Milena, shifting away again when she was certain the Shield Maiden was sufficiently small enough that she could drown in her own cup. “The Outer Guardians to the Gate are likely to lash out, but Jǫðurr alone is enough reason to tame their anger.”

"Indeed." Atla, mostly silent as always, finally interjected. "Our Milena once more brings us honor and ships, a King's wealth, and victory. There isn't a coincidence in it at all. If you prayed to your Goddess then she has certainly spoken loud and clear." She shifted a thick braid of blue behind her back, offering Milena a delicate toast.

"Well, I must speak with this King Erland first. it is still possible we are not well matched, that he will not be open to negotiation. There is still a chance we will have to fight for our home." 

"That is not what I have seen." Ragna was shaking her head, "The Great Tree blossoms under your reign, but Milena will know if it will be a bond of a great love or great duty. Such is one of her many gifts under Freya. However The End is always present, it’s just a matter of when." 

"If only her gifts worked so well on herself." Magnhildr nudged her side gently, and Milena decided she suddenly felt ill. 

"I will prepare accordingly." Atla commented with apologetic eyes at Milena, over an innocent enough sip of wine. It was well known that meek as Atla appeared, she was strong, and hands down the most resourceful. Her husband was a good man, injured during the last raid. Milena and Magnhildr brought him back home, half alive and Atla had cared for him from dawn to dawn. It wasn't enough to save him though, and while she had a home still, she chose to spend her days under Sefi's roof. Milena felt for her, knowing well it wasn't the demise of her husband but the break-in of two wretches who'd tried to force themselves on her that solidified her decision to move. Atla had killed one of them herself, and Milena executed the other personally. 

"Asger is anxious for my return. The men have all been assigned housing, is anything further required of me?" She stood, Arti getting up from Mag's lap to rub himself affectionately against her leg. Milena felt grateful for the comfort because going home was far less desirable. 

"No," Sefi pouted like a child might and slumped back in her seat, "I was only hoping to share a drink with my dearest friend to celebrate her safe return, and a very strange victory indeed. You seem so very unhappy as of late, and more so now. I am worried. I know your marriage bed has been unkind." 

The eyes of her dearest friends became offensive. If only they knew how lost she was, how certain she'd been that she found her way only to watch it sink into the dark watery depths. The stinging prickle of tears stung her eyes, her lungs and stomach burning with a pang of guilt she irrationally wanted to blame Asger for and knew she couldn't. Her sins were her own. 

"I'm weary is all. I always am after being away from home for so long. Who knows, perhaps I'm with child after all, time will tell." Sympathy marked the eyes of her dearest friends, knowing how unlikely it was. She dreaded the thought that they may know that if she was with child, that it would not be her husbands. Realization sank in that she'd spoken too much about the matter, and Milena threw back the rest of her wine, stepped to kiss Sefi's cheek and bade a hasty goodnight. The others remained calm and distantly silent. 

"You won't join us for the feast tonight?" Milena shook her head, tearing her eyes away to make a quick retreat for the door. She wanted to celebrate, to honor the fallen and mourn her ship. She actually missed drinking ale and talking nonsense with Jǫðurr and Nefir, learning more about navigation technique from Zephyr and showing him how to braid his thick, curly locks. Asger wouldn't have it though, too eager to reclaim her as more than just his wife. 

Asger sat by the hearth, staring thoughtfully into the fire in front of him. He didn't seem to notice Milena as she lingered in the doorway, taking a silent moment to admire the fire as it danced across his pale and beautiful features. Looking at him, she saw nothing but her sunken ship, and the sins she'd committed against him. Not that being with Kjaran felt wrong, she forbade herself from acknowledging how perfect it was, knowing that she needed to place it far from her mind. She'd been so wrong to choose the freedom of her ship over focusing on the home, and now she'd wronged Asger most of all. He was still her husband, in the end. 

Glancing briefly toward the empty crib in the corner, Milena sidled into her house, Arti at her back, slinked off toward his usual spot at the end of their bed. Her arms laced around Asger's neck, and she attempted to comfort him, seeking some solace for herself and she hugged him, placing a sweet kiss at his temple. She had loved him dearly once, and her eyes clenched shut with the hope that they tried hard enough, they could find that happiness again. If only she could get him to focus on a legacy outside of the promise of family, if she could get him to stop his accusations, and love her without the imprisonment of being his possession. If she could get herself to stop wishing he was someone else. 

"Why do we fight?" He asked absently, placing a rough hand over her embracing arms. 

"Because somehow, somewhere, this marriage became less about love, and too much about children. Perhaps we are just not meant to have that legacy." Her voice came soft, gazing into the flame of the hearth with a sadness only the fire would see. Marriage was seldom about love in their society. More about status, dowries, and power with a hope that somewhere along the way, love might grow. "Somehow this became about you owning me. Tell me you don't believe that. We are partners..remember? You provide the food, I provide the protection, our wealth." 

"Did you fuck him?" Milena knew that cold calm in Asger's tone and unwound her arms from his shoulders with a calm of her own. The question spoke loudly to her that he cared little for anything she mentioned. He cared about his own pride, what he owned. That question spoke of his intimidation that she could have more than him, though to her knowledge she'd never told him that he wasn't enough. Not until he so obviously began his affairs, and treated her like a prized horse for his plows. "I see the way he looks at you. Telling, since I have only known of him for a few hours. There is longing in it." 

"A product of your own guilt Asger? I am weary, and if we aren't going to the feast then I'd like to rest. I have no fight with you tonight Husband." He turned to watch her as she began to strip leather belts, linen clothes and various salt worn ornamental pieces she'd wash later. Milena stepped toward their bath, to wash some of the salt and grime left on her body after the long journey before she settled in to sleep. With any luck, she could wash away the guilt that clawed at her stomach, and the lies that were born from it. Asger was not an honorable man, but even he did not deserve her dishonesty.

"You don't deny it." He spoke, pale green eyes fixed on her as she washed up with a rag and soap. The hunger there was possessive, and Milena knew there would be little hope for sleep that night. 

"I admitted to nothing either. You are my Husband, you could have at least been glad to see me safe after such a trip. We nearly died out there you know." 

"Yes." Standing, he too began removing his clothes to join her. She felt his hands run along the curve of her hips and waist, warm as they were, they sent a sickening chill down her spine. "Another ship we'll have to replace, thanks to your Jarl friend." His voice was dark, more of a hiss than anything and the more his hands traveled over her skin, upward toward her breasts, the less welcoming they became. 

"Stop that." Milena tried to shrug Asger away but his fingers bit into her flesh and pulled her roughly back against him. "You're hurting me." It was a growled warning more than anything, pausing the damp cloth she used to bathe on her chest.

"Need I remind you that you are mine? I believe I promised you that earlier did I not?" His lips trailed over her shoulder, hands growing gentler but no less unwelcome. "If you fucked him or not, you are my wife. He will never have you, my love." 

"What would you do Asger? Farm him into Valhalla? The Jarl was my prisoner, and he is now Sefi's guest. I have a duty to her first, you know this." Milena spat at first but closed her eyes in an effort to calm her seething enough to speak with a rational tongue. "I belong to no one Husband, and I seek no quarrel with you tonight. Please, can we not argue and simply go to sleep?" 

"I would put a child in you first, I've been too long without you." Her fist shook as it clenched around her washcloth sending trails of soap and water down the contours of her stomach, her restraint for violence growing thin as his lips grew bolder, hands urging and ushering her toward their bed for a purpose he'd long since been ready for the way he pressed himself against her back. Milena told herself she needed to try, she'd wronged him. Horrid as he was, Asger was her husband, and as he climbed into bed beside her, his lips met hers in a wantonly desperate fashion. When he mounted her, her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, relishing in the darkness behind her eyelids and the depth of his kiss. As he eased himself inside of her, filling her with himself, she could only think about how she was no better than him, because she wished he was someone else. This would be her punishment.

* * *

The old man smoked a long pipe of sweet tobacco, a comforting sort of smell wafting on the night air in fragrant wispy clouds. Kjaran actually enjoyed listening to the old man, his tales of raids, and his beautiful wife who perished of old age only a handful of years prior. They sat together on an old bench outside of his timber house, and the elder man chuckled at the desperate sounds of lovers across the street. Kjaran knew the feminine lust-filled sighs and felt the cold stab of unjustified anger, or jealousy. The smoky scent of a pig roasting for their feast turned his stomach and he longed to stroll down by the shore to cleanse his ears with the lapping surf on the sand. He'd tried hard not to hear their argument, but timber houses were lousy for keeping sound and the close proximity of the structures in this surprisingly vast settlement didn't allow for much privacy. He could handle arguing but this, this was intolerable. 

"Not sure who I feel more for, the poor fool who fucks half the settlement with nothing to show for it, bastard or legitimate, or that Valkyrie he married. Milena is primed for childbearing, has the hips for it, eh?" Kjaran didn't know if he should roll his eyes or laugh. He did know for certain that her husband was swine, and she, well she was a Goddess, living and breathing in another man's arms. Rightfully, her Husband's arms. Kjaran's throat grew dry, mind in need of salve in the form of the strongest ale Jarl Sefi could offer him. "It's him, you know. That boy was poison from the day his parents sought Milena's hand. She takes care of me, makes sure I have meat in my stomach and the good ale to drink. I'd been long ready for Valhalla, but she just keeps making sure I'm good. Wife's probably awful jealous, pretty girl like that feedin' me and keepin' me FAT." 

"It is not my place to covet another man's wife, but her husband has been more blessed than he knows. A daughter of Freya is..." 

"She's a catch!" The old man chuckled Jovially, shoving his horn full of ale toward Kjaran with a grin full of missing teeth. He declined respectfully of course and winced when the noise from across the street grew louder. "Boy- it is a man's duty to love his wife, is it not?" 

"Yes.."

"She hasn't been loved by that Farmer since the day they exchanged swords. He loves what she can do for him, the status she gives him... and I think we all know what a lucky man he is to keep her in his bed." He winked, scandalously nudging Kjaran with his elbow. "And I never said anything about coveting, you offered that information freely. I merely mentioned that Milena is ripe for a child. It's her husband, sour apple that one. He is unfavored. She'd be lucky to be courted by a sturdy ox like you. You're a Jarl right?" 

"It isn't my pla-"

"Fuck off, Jarl!" Shrill laughter erupted from the old man's lips, releasing a cloud of smoke into the night. "You're powerful, big as a damned mountain, rich...what I'm saying is if you love the girl WOO her! None of this 'It's not my place bullshit' that girl deserves a REAL man." 

"He's right, you know." Zephyr appeared through the darkened doorway to the house, stepping beside him with an amused look on his brow at the short, round old man with his ale soaked beard and missing teeth. Kjaran hadn't realized the English native hadn't joined Nefir and Jǫðurr at the tavern, staying behind to apparently bathe. His lips tensed into a frown, one Zephyr knew well by now as a regretful one. "Do you love her?" 

"Anything I feel is superficial. Erland will arrive in a mere couple of weeks, and I will sail out to meet him. Just in case you know, an angry Kraken seeks to kill my King." 

"Take her with you." The old man suggested, his voice had softened to something less amused. Perhaps he could see it in the pale blue of the Jarl's eyes that he was a just man. Noble in his value as a Northman. He took a long draw of his pipe and passed it to Zephyr who accepted, shifting his green eyes toward Kjaran in agreeance of the suggestion. "You'll need protection from the beasts of the sea." 

"They are sending Magnhildr with us. I'll bring Nefir, we'll be fine." Even Zephyr cringed as the couple reached their apparent climax; shivering he reached for the ale filled horn in the unphased old man's hand. It made Kjaran's skin crawl, but he found a strange relief that he did not hear her own breathy, impassioned release. Gods he remembered that sound when she marked his back and cried out his name, trembling and hardly able to breathe. Smug where he shouldn't have been, but understanding Milena's tired sentiments over the weeks about a husband that could not please her. 

"She at least has the right to know. He caused a scene at the dock, we all thought you'd take his head right then and there. Maybe if she knew how you felt, she might prefer a man who protected her over a man who greeted her with such violent hands." Zephyr offered in his always rational tone, regardless if Kjaran wanted the advice or not. 

"How many ways can I say that it's not my place." He muttered, brushing passed his friend into the darkened home to bring life back to the old man's fire. The muffled sound of the old man's voice that housed them was pleasant while he began telling Zephyr tales of his younger years. Some they'd already heard that afternoon. The events of the past week played out in his mind as he added logs to the hearth, staring into the renewed flame. 

There were so many other, more important things for Kjaran to concern himself with, such as the betterment of his people, and yet all he could think about was her. He'd convinced himself days ago on that ship that Milena had cast some spell over him with that powerful voice of hers that seemed to captivate everyone. He was no man to crowd a woman's bed and follow after her like an imprinted baby chick, but it was that moment he watched her greet her Husband on that dock earlier that he understood it was no matter of charm or magic. It solidified what he already knew of his feelings, and only served to make them stronger. 

The man had put his hands on her aggressively, challenging him with a sort of possessive gleam in his eyes as if to encourage him to reveal their impassioned crime. Kjaran still wanted to tear her Husband’s arms from his body for causing her pain, for treating her like a child’s ragdoll when Milena deserved a loving touch, something to heal her troubled heart. He knew he’d loved her since that first evening she danced on the beach, sang her loyalty to their Gods into the night, and it was all solidified when he watched Asger hurt her, verbally tear down such a powerful woman when he himself was so weak, unimportant, and short.

After all, they'd been through, Milena went from stealing his ships and holding him prisoner, to saving Zephyr's life and battling a Kraken, to sharing the most intimate corners of her body and mind. All within weeks that became well worth the rope burn, discomfort, and wounded pride so he could learn her savagery as well as her passion and vulnerability. Strange powers aside, Milena was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and for the first time in his life, the yearning for someone made him ache. 

"Kjaran." Zephyr summoned him, gesturing from the doorway out onto the street. The feast would be starting soon, and Kjaran was really in no mood for social gatherings. But the idea of food and ale with his men was a welcome thought, a diplomatic gathering to distract him from things he had no business caring about. 

"Don't say a word." Kjaran warned, cutting Zephyr off with his lips parted to speak before he could utter a single phrase about Milena. It was bad enough that the feisty old man they stayed with was more than vocal about everything than he should have been even if he promised to "keep a coward’s misery" to himself in an attempt to salvage a poor Jarl's honor. 

The feast was extravagant. Roasted pig, fresh vegetables, fowl, and more ale and mead than Kjaran had ever seen. His men were a jovial addition to the event, of course, pleased by the abundance of food and women. There would be very few cold beds in this settlement tonight, except perhaps his own. All were fascinated by their tales of the North, the violent raids and trade routes that veined inland as well as to the far South, stretching far into the East. All accented with upbeat song and drums that sounded too dull without her voice weaving through it. 

After his third ale, Nefir had a bold arm around Mag's shoulders, his loud laughter carrying over the noisy hall in attempts to drown out the tense bickering of Ragna and Jǫðurr over horns of mead. In quick observation, the dark-haired seer of Sefi's house made gorgeous contrast to his blonde haired, blue eyed companion. For as crude as Jǫðurr could be, their conversation appeared engaging and passionate enough that she hadn't slapped him, yet. He saw his men becoming comfortable, making themselves at home beside the women of this distant land. Even Zephyr after a few hours of celebration spoke quietly at their table with Atla. Not that Kjaran didn't have questions of his own about the dragon that so conveniently protected their lands under her will, but he had to wonder what was going to happen when they went back home to the North. Kjaran had no intention to stay. 

"It's always a bit duller during these gatherings without Milena. She tells such wonderful stories. Always did need to be the center of attention, would always dance and sing until she was too drunk to stand." Atla smiled almost sadly, her big blue that gazed up at him drifted into her cup of wine. Zephyr was of course not quite appeased to leave it be. 

"Is her Husband so opposed to these celebrations? The fallen are surely toasting our honor as we toast theirs. It's just improper that he would keep her." 

"Improper?" Atla's brow lifted in near offense. "It's disrespectful to our Gods really. They host our dead and expect us to celebrate their great legacies."

"He is from the West. You'll have to forgive his ignorance. He is still learning our ways." Kjaran offered over a miserable drink of his ale. 

"Hm. Asger is merely fearful of the way men look at her, especially after too much ale. He isn't very blessed as is, but undeserving of our Milena as well as our Gods." Atla's lips tensed, her gaze too attentive, unsettling to him. "You do little to celebrate yourself Jarl. Are you so troubled?" With a scoff he downed the rest of his drink, motioning to one of Sefi's Thralls for more.

"Well, my freedom is only tentative. I have likely lost a fleet which will piss off my King, and...Nevermind." Kjaran grumbled, icy eyes turned to face the fire, telling himself once more that it wasn't his place. He did have a habit of speaking too openly after so much to drink.

"Whatever it is you seek Jarl, I think it is closer to your grasp than you think. Sefi is a fair Chieftain, she will make such a bargain with your King. Though of course, I am no Seer, it is what Ragna has seen." 

"Not all he seeks." Zephyr butted in, snapping wide blue eyes of the girl with blueberry colored hair in his direction. Kjaran shot him a frigid glare and stood to leave. They could talk all they wanted, words meant little to the situation and changed even less. The old man would be a while at the celebration yet, so without much agenda, Kjaran headed for the docks to find some quiet. 


	8. When Your Heart Follows Two Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* Non-graphic smut and non-consensual elements. (kept as non-graphic as possible to avoid plot events but I take no offense to people skipping. Tagged and flagged for a reason b/c I care about you!!! <3)

Her life became so normal yet so displaced. The Northmen blended and mingled so effortlessly into their world that it was often jarring to come across them so casually. Nefir had quickly become a fixture at their forge, working their apprentices to the bone all the while stepping on the toes of their native weaponsmith. Their arguments were likely to become a thing of legend if they didn’t kill each other first. Jǫðurr was kept very busy in their shipyard with their own carpenter repairing both fleets and preparing a ship for his Jarl to go and meet their King. Zephyr, on the other hand, spent a good deal of time with Atla who had grown fascinated by Western medicine and seafaring. She did end up spending more time than she had the patience for explaining more of their culture to him, and in the few days after it wasn’t uncommon to see the two lazily walking through town speaking rather passionately. 

“Good morning Milena.” Atla greeted early one morning, Zephyr beside her adding his own polite salutation. The medicine woman rarely mingled with men beyond the threshold of Sefi’s Longhouse, having just lost her husband to the raids the year prior. She smiled back to the couple, of course, heart warmed by the ease of Atla’s smile. 

“Good morning to you both.” She replied, stepping out onto the dirt path with a half-hearted smile of her own. It seemed she was the only one who felt so discontented and lost, so restless. But it was her life, and come what may she would bring honor to her mother’s name and ensure her duties to Sefi were performed without disruption. That is until she saw Hildr. 

Atla was speaking to her, of that she was certain, but Milena could hear nothing over the raging beating of her heart. Hildr was a youthful thing, made haggard by the long strands of stringy black hair that fell in curtains nearly to the ground, her dark eyes wide and omnipotent, and fixed on her in particular from between two timber homes just down the path.

“Milena are you ill? You seem very pale.” Atla had stepped forward, her concerned touch making Milena jump and snap her stare toward her friend. 

“Hildr..” Milena pointed, but when the two women looked, the strange entity wasn’t there. A chilled hand pressed on her forehead, and Atla’s large blue eyes danced between hers with worry. “She was there Atla, just there between those houses.” 

“There is no one there. Perhaps you shouldn’t train today. Rest, and come see me later?” She grew excited and nudged her playfully in the ribs, lips turned in happiness. “Maybe you are finally with child!” 

Milena felt sick, her throat dry, and she swallowed hard. She knew what she saw, and no child blossomed within her. This was a most horrifying omen, setting a cold sweat to her skin beneath her linen and leather clothes. “No, I am fine Atla. Surely just the shadows playing tricks on me. It is early yet.” 

“Who is Hildr?” Zephyr piped in, seemingly forgotten by the two women for the moment. The girls exchanged looks, and Atla promptly laced her arm through his and began to lead him away, trying to explain that he shouldn’t worry himself with the likes of Hildr. 

Milena breathed, hearing a faint whisper on the breeze that sounded like her name, and she shivered. Sidling down the path between the two houses, her eyes darted around only to find no one. “Milena.” 

She whipped around quickly, finding the odd looking girl standing near the fence that would have led down the path to the meadows, toward the fields where Hildr’s forests would surround the mountains they guarded. “To what do we owe this visit Hildr? They’ve done nothing to compromise our place.” 

“Yet.” She hissed coldly. “Sefi is a foolish girl. I know her plans.” 

“She wouldn’t have acted without Ragna’s counsel. Surely you know there is a Light Elf among them. He is as sacred to this realm as you and your guardians are.” 

Hildr scoffed at this, wetting her lips and shifting somewhere beyond all those black robes and hair. “Elves are fool creatures. They blend well enough with our kind. Outsiders would never know that they do not belong in Midgard. I suppose that’s why his mother placed him among the Northmen. I admit that I am intrigued.” 

“And they embraced him well. He is a good man, albeit full of trickery, but he is strong-” 

“You’ve grown fond of these outsiders.” 

Milena swallowed her own dry knot. Just those words made her long for Kjaran. He made her braver, and she never needed bravery quite as she did in Hildr’s oppressing presence. A feeling she had to hide before this entity saw right through her. “They are men of honor, strength, and yes they are good men. Is there a point to your visit today? Any message you need me to give Sefi on your behalf?” 

“Take care Milena, I hear your troubled heart. It echoes through my trees and disturbs my wolves.” Dark as Hildr’s eyes were, they burned. A pale hand lifted when Milena went to speak, silencing her immediately. “Only tell Sefi that I am near, and I am watching. My wolves are hungry and Ragnarok stirs with the presence of Tyr’s chosen.” 

“Well tell your weapon and your wolves to rest easy. There may be changes coming but no disturbance. If I remember correctly, that is Sefi’s discretion, not yours.” 

“The only discretion I bend to is the balance. I care not for Odin’s will or Sefi’s. As long as the Nine Realms remain in order, and you foolish Shield Maidens keep those outsiders from disrupting a thing. And I do mean anything, Milena.” Hildr didn’t wait for Milena’s response, she wouldn’t have cared about anything she had to say anyway. Watching while the black-haired girl huddled further into her robes as she turned to head down the path. Such an eerie sight to see the brilliant sun not touch the world around her as she strolled down the path toward the meadows near her home. 

Full of foreboding, Milena shivered and headed back into her settlement. Ragna had no doubt felt the chilled darkness Hildr’s presence brought, but nevertheless, she’d have to deliver the news to Sefi right away. It was clear the entity was not pleased. 

She jumped at the feeling of a hand on her arm, her smile falling when she turned to meet Ager’s widened leaf green stare. “Are you alright wife?” 

“Oh, Asger… good morning, you startled me.” She’d hoped it was someone else and felt sorry for it. She hadn’t spoken to Kjaran since they arrived, and as infuriating as his teasing could be sometimes she found she missed the thrill of their exchanges. But Asger gave an easy smile, a tool propped over one shoulder as he was headed toward their farm. “You’re getting to the farm late today.” 

“Observant as always.” He chuckled softly and bent to kiss her forehead. “There’s not much work left to do, I thought I’d go for a walk early this morning.” 

“I see.” She muttered, knowing the excuse was likely a lie but was in no mood to argue. “Hildr was here, I don’t think she’s pleased.” 

“I share in her displeasure but it’s only temporary. Things will return to the way they were as soon as the wolves tuck their tails and go back where they belong.” Asger tried to assure her, but his assurance was bland to her. Milena searched her husband’s eyes which were soft and welcoming enough this morning, even if they weren’t a fierce steel blue. 

“Well, I need to deliver the news to Sefi, as you need to get to our farm.” She ignored his hostile sentiments and placed a nearly chaste kiss to his lips. As she went to walk away, Asger pulled her back into his free arm with a charming smile and rest his forehead on hers. 

“Now Milena, a wife should kiss her husband properly if she expects him to work hard. Give me something to look forward to when work is done.” Despite herself, she laughed as Asger pulled her against him with a wicked grin, tickling her neck with his breath before she pulled his lips to hers for a proper kiss. His lips muffled her giggle when he dropped the heavy tool he had propped on his shoulder to pull her in his arms to better reciprocate her affections. “I take it back my love, I’ll work with distraction today.” 

“Well I suggest you hurry then, or the day will take longer.” Asger swatted her butt when she turned to walk away, appraising her when he bent to pick up the hoe he’d dropped previously. Milena fought a playful smile and rolled her eyes at her boyish husband before quickening her step toward Sefi’s. This was how life should be, so she told herself, rationalizing the queasy feeling in her gut as lingering chills from Hildr’s visit. 

Sefi had little to say about the visit from their dark guardian. Ragna, of course, wasn’t so quick to brush it off as a mere warning, but a promise. She’d appeared in the main hall with a raven on her shoulder and annoyance in her violet eyes at their Jarl’s easy dismissal of the dark guardian’s appearance. 

“You may have an uncanny judgment of character Sefi, but Hildr is more wrathful in her purpose. Especially if she isn’t swayed by Jǫðurr’s presence here. We all thought the emergence of a long dead race might have given her some empathy where it did not. I have seen a disturbance but you know my premonitions are not clear if they aren’t decided.” 

“Meditate on it more?” Milena interjected the two spatting back and forth, one so calm and serene and the other always ready to combust. “I only wanted you to know that Hildr has come and relayed that warning. We’ll need to tread with caution that I will relay to Mag. I’m late to train but Hildr is thirsty for destruction and I’m not willing to leave anything to chance.” 

“We all knew it was going to be a risk. But Jarl Kjaran and his men seem honorable enough to keep the peace.” Sefi insisted, casting her youthful eyes to the seer who scowled, seemingly frustrated that her premonitions were not being delivered clearly yet. “You all need to keep your calm. It is natural that Hildr would keep her watch. It is her duty to protect the balance, after all, she is merely doing her diligence to ensure it remains intact.” 

“There is nothing natural about Hildr.” Ragna frowned, absently pulling one of her braids from the mouth of her raven who decided to peck at it. “She usually keeps her distance, so we shouldn’t be so reckless you halfwitted Jarl.” 

“No need to be hostile you haggard seer.” Sefi smiled through her insult, more playful in meaning than hurtful, but after such a long life Ragna was hardly a patient woman.

Milena clenched her eyes closed as Sefi and Ragna continued to bicker opening them warily to glance down at her moping cat by the hearth. Even Arti was eager to leave the hall when she so silently slinked out into the bustling town and followed her down to the sparring area where Mag was already hard at work with the younger maidens of their clan. Magnhildr was always so agreeable, confirming she’d prevent Nefir from murdering their blacksmith next time they got into a spat or got too rowdy in their drinking hall, both agreeing with nervous laughter that it was Jǫðurr they’d have to worry about. It was the sparring Milena needed, and while Mag was as formidable an opponent as she could ask for, she couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing felt right anymore. 

Later, as she hung up her shield for the day, Milena heard his voice and couldn't keep her eyes from finding him. Kjaran did not see her initially, as he was surrounded by their youth, perched on a singular log while teaching them how to properly fish. Serious as he was, he was good at bringing laughter to the children as he described his own shortcomings growing up, since in his youth he hadn’t been a very skilled fisherman. 

"Find your weakest skill and do nothing else until no one can do it better than you." 

Milena smiled at the advice, and he, of course, lifted his eyes to her lingering form and smiled softly in a manner otherwise uncommon for him. Kjaran nodded and the group of children turned to beam at her. They waved happily, which broadened her own smile, making her feel light and brought laughter to her lips as she waved back. 

"That smile suits you." Her stomach tensed, feeling Asger's arms lace around her waist as he practically purred into her ear. 

"What brings you here, Husband?" Milena turned in his arms, releasing herself from Kjaran's gaze, putting it behind her. 

"I need a reason to see my wife?" His lips spread into an easy smile, and she noted how his peridot stare flickered behind her from Kjaran, back into her eyes. "I finished my work early and thought we might walk to gather some berries for an after supper treat." 

"Of course." Milena released the tension she carried with a slow exhale, relieved when no hateful words followed his observation of Kjaran's presence, and she found her smile softening. “I’m still just on edge from this morning is all. Hildr isn’t unwelcome exactly but her presence doesn’t lend to very happy tidings.” 

"I have stew simmering at home. I thought we could dine in private tonight. There have been too many people between us, and I'd like you to myself without such politics in the way." Asger laced his fingers with hers and began to lead her away from the sparring area, and for once his lips were soft against hers when he paused to kiss her briefly. 

“I’d like that.” She spoke softly but thought she might mean the words. Perhaps it had just been too long since they’d spent any time together. 

They walked lazily through the grass in the valley, along the treeline to a thick forest where her favorite blackberries grew dark and swollen. Asger was charming, sweet even with his hand in hers, speaking about the crop he'd planted and that one of their heifers was growing large with a new calf. 

"You did well then, I hope it is another female. Joot will grow untrusting if we don't offer him something more than pigs and deer." Milena giggled in her throat and found herself leaning against his arm. The twilight had begun to settle soft colors to the sky, and she clenched her eyes with blind hope for her husband's very recent affection. 

"Joot would eat our entire source of milk if we let him." He chuckled and bent to kiss the crown of her head. "I think that dragon eats better than we do sometimes. He does have a flair for dramatics." 

Milena almost commented on Zephyr and his sometimes flamboyant displays of temperament but refrained. Instead, she paused, finding some berries ripe for the picking, and brought one to Asger's lips. "Let me know if they are still too tart, it is still early." 

"Mm, I think these are just right." He commented over a boyish grin as he chewed, watching as Milena searched for the next one she'd gather for dessert. He paused her, wrapping his fingers gently around her wrist to get her attention. "Do you love me, Milena?" 

Her widened eyes met his, taken off guard by the question. Truly she couldn't remember the last time they'd spoken the words or the last time they spent leisure time together as they did then. "Asger, you're my husband, you doltish man. Why would you ask me such things?" 

"Because you have been strange since you returned to me, and I see the way he-" 

"Please." Milena cut him off and pressed her palms against his chest. Asger was strong, not as much as the Jarl she knew he spoke of, but he worked hard despite his other shortcomings and she felt the fruits of his labor beneath her hands. "I have lost my ship Asger. Of anyone, you should know that it pains me. I come home weary, and just because a man looks at me, it does not alter our contract. So please, be kind husband, and let us gather berries so we can enjoy a warm meal together." 

Asger lifted her chin with his fingers and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. It was sweet with the flavor of berries and he never commented that she hadn't really answered his question. "A year. Give us that. Your ship's demise has been a blessing to our union Milena, a sign that we will be blessed within the year." 

It stung that he would be so narrow minded, and her throat tightened as she forced herself to gaze into his face, reach up to run her fingers through his careless hair of white gold. As she whispered, her voice cracked with a voice that did not belong to her. Milena wasn't sure she believed the words herself because Asger never had any sort of sense to declare them blessed or otherwise. "I will take the year." 

He was so beautiful when he smiled, and he beamed at her, gathering her in his arms with infectious laughter. She was a fool to have such hope as he spun them in a triumphant circle before allowing her feet to touch the ground. His mouth was familiar to her when he kissed her, slow and deep, and the question of her love for him echoed through her ears. 

"You make your husband happy." Asger declared, leaning his forehead against hers with his dashing smile. "It grows late, let's get back before the stew is ready.”

Hastily, they gathered enough berries for the two of them, and Milena allowed the playfulness that had taken over her husband to become infectious as they hustled back toward their timber home. Asger humorously burned the stew, though it was passable as long as you stayed far away from the bottom of the pot. She had a good laugh about the heavy bite to the broth, and was all too pleased to move on from their overcooked dinner to mix a touch of honey to the berries they picked and settled in front of the fire with her wayward husband to play a game of cards in bed. 

Milena grew drowsy sometime after she finished her sweetened treat, eyelids growing heavy as she nodded off against Ager's chest for no reason other than the familiarity of him. They lay in bed with the cards sprawled between them, and his amused chuckle woke her enough to make her smile sleepily. 

"Surely you won't let me win so easily." He breathed huskily into her ear, and she felt his fingers working on the ties of her clothes. Weakly, she tried to swat him away, allowing it to amuse her only for a moment. 

"We have a year Asger, I am tired." Milena tried to shift to her side, but she found herself being stripped regardless. "Surely you'll let me rest, I'm content to sleep in your arms. We can enjoy each other perhaps in the morning." 

"Don't be a fool wife, we should make our child while the evening is perfect. Have I not loved you properly today?" 

"You're being an idiot Asger, love me every day and let me rest tonight. We have tried every day for a week, at least let my body process our efforts properly.” Her brows furrowed at the feel of his lips upon her skin and opened her eyes to glare harshly at him when Asger did not relent. “Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean you need your cock. I’ll feed that to Joot too and we won’t worry about children at all.” 

He laughed, and Milena sat up groggily, pushing Asger off of her to finish removing the stiff leather she wore while he gathered the cards on the blanket. “You’re doing little to sway my desire wife. In fact, you’re doing as you should and making me want you more despite your threats to inflict such harm on what may one day give you a child. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, and I would give it to you every night until it’s yours.” 

Milena frowned and turned on her side to face away from him, relishing the soft fur and linen of their fine bed. Asger was always quick to tell her what she wanted, so much so that she'd begun to wonder and doubt her own desires. "You are ruining a beautiful day. Go to sleep and perhaps I won't think about this tomorrow in anger." 

"I'll be quick." He muttered against her shoulder, rough hands trespassing on her skin that she neither wanted, or asked for. She tried to shrug him off, but his hand bit painfully into her arm to stop her from fighting him before contradicting the motion by very softly running his fingers in affection over the skin. Milena hissed through her teeth at the pain since her arm was still so tender from her injury and she yanked it from his grasp with angry tears pricking at her eyes. Kjaran had been so careful, so gentle with that arm to see that it healed well. No, she couldn’t think about him, but as she closed her eyes and Asger traced the curve of her hip with a rough hand, she couldn’t think about anyone else. 

It was pure guilt that made her turn to face Asger, to meet his predatory  chartreuse stare for a kiss that was mostly teeth and her tensed lips against his own. He pushed her down on her stomach in frustration, and she struggled half heartedly against him. “Asger please-” 

“Surrender to me.” He whispered, almost hissed possessively into her ear and Milena gasped into the fur, a tear slipping down her cheek. She was so angry she could think to do nothing but cry, and even then she refused to give him the satisfaction. She’d heard similar words before, on a deeper, more loving tone that allowed her to open her heart to feelings she wished she didn’t feel. But she felt them stronger, and she thought her heart might burst from the memory of those freeing words. Asger pressed his lips to her shoulder again and she almost fought him off because she’d been marked and claimed by someone else on that shoulder, and she couldn’t breathe with the guilt that clenched her heart.

He would have his way with her anyway, and It felt wrong when he pressed himself into her, mounting her with a heavy groan that was familiar all the same. She could have overpowered him, pushed him off of her and ended their night with a quarrel that might have ended with another tirade of lies and hypocrisy that Milena was no longer immune to. She would lie as well. She would point the finger at him when she was no better. Unwilling to be that hypocrite, she’d lie still and allow her husband to do as he pleased. She’d close her eyes and pretend she wasn’t reeling from memory of stronger, more powerful hands that once handled her far more gently. 

Asger would then pull her on her back when she didn’t respond to him, breaking her reverie only long enough for Milena to wish that as she received him once more, wrapping around him of her own will, burying her fingers with a wish that his hair was longer, more silken, and silver. Her lips would part with a more amorous sound as she clung to him with the memory of broader muscles, clenching her eyes tight as she finally began moving her hips with his, and surrendered herself more to the memories of another man. Certainly not her husband who demanded it of her, because when her eyes opened to meet the peridot shade of Asger’s, the  task became boring to her, laborious, and without much love. He was not quick. 

Dawn would tell a different tale as she woke with limbs still entwined with Asger who constricted his arms affectionately around her once he realized she was awake. His eyes were always greener in the morning, better complimenting of his pale blonde hair. Milena turned to face him, his features kinder this morning, sending her heart into a tailspin of confusion. 

“Good Morning, husband.” 

“Morning indeed my beautiful wife.” He kissed her softly and smiled, hair falling wild over his face in a charmingly handsome manner. “I will make you some breakfast before you train. I have a long day of fieldwork myself.” 

“Mm, just don’t burn the porridge.” She teased, and Asger rolled his eyes but grinned as he left their bed to dress so she could bathe and do the same. 

“Just don’t feed my heifer to Joot, and you have a deal.” Winking, he shot her that boyish grin of his that seemed to light up his face, charming enough to make her a little sad. He seemed so light that morning, as he hadn’t been in years and Milena began to think she’d imagined his behavior the night before. Perhaps she should have been used to his rapidly shifting mood swings, but she couldn’t remember the last time he was actually loving.

It only dawned on her a bit later when she reached the training grounds the reasoning behind Asger's apparent joy. Kjaran and Nefir were sparring together, instructing some of the younger boys in the ways of battle. There were still fewer boys than her ever growing assembly of promising Shield Maidens, but it warmed her heart to see the two giant Northmen offering strength to their youth where they may not have found it otherwise. She took a breath, glancing at the prepared ship waiting in the docks for their departure the next morning, to bring King Erland back to their settlement. Her husband would be pleased by the Northmen's absence, and a darkened cloud breached the hope growing in her heart in realization that Asger's behavior was likely temporary.

“You shouldn’t train so hard.” Kjaran’s stern but somewhat amused tone gathered her attention, earning him a look of disdain for his observation of her loitering. Nefir continued his lessons behind him as Kjaran kneeled on the ground in front of her to sharpen his sword. 

“Are you always so tiresome?” Her brow lifted and her heart stuttered when he smiled with his teeth, keeping his attention focused on his blade. 

“I would say no, but King Erland will likely say otherwise. I’m sure he isn’t pleased.” 

“Well, he will have some time to reprimand you once you leave tomorrow.” She stepped to pick up her shield, an old one she kept for luck and training, battered with too much use. 

“Has my distance pleased you so much?” 

“Is it not a fact that you are leaving at dawn? My feelings about the matter aren’t of any consequence.” 

Something flickered behind his eyes when they lifted to her, and his lips quirked in an infuriating fashion. “I didn’t say anything about my leaving, only my distance. I will come back.” 

Her eyes rolled, fingers tensing on the grip of her shield as she turned to seek out a training partner. “And you will continue to keep your distance.” 

“Milena.” Her back tensed at her spoken name, and she paused to look behind her as Kjaran stood, assessing the sharpness of his blade. His soot-rimmed eyes shifted on her and wickedness took over his mouth. “Spar with me.” 

Despite the silent protest she posed in her eyes, cheers of Nefir and a small group of young men he trained urged them on from behind Kjaran’s back. The Jarl laughed and primed his sword with a mischievous shrug. Milena rolled her eyes, and despite the fluttering of her stomach, she moved into position with nothing but her shield at the ready. “Do not expect me to spare your fragile ego Jarl. I’m not to blame when you’re in the dirt like a defeated ass.” 

“We will see who finds themselves in the dirt, your emotions distract you.” His lips quirked in a cocky manner, “Perhaps we’ll end up in the dirt together.” 

She didn’t hesitate to charge at him, fury for so many things flooding her veins as she grunted from the bone rattling force of his sword clashing with her shield. The wood splintered from the contact of sharp iron, and she had to be quick because Kjaran was sly with a blade, calculated with care not to seek her blood. There was a flurry beyond their match, yet Milena heard no words or cheering, only felt the strength of his movements and tried her best to be faster, more cunning. 

They’d fought before, that first day on his ship, but Milena held an advantage being smaller, lighter on the shallow deck of a warship. On solid ground, his height and sturdiness wore her down quicker, though she remained faster and lighter on her feet. She tried to knock the wind from his lungs, to buckle his knees, catch his face with one of the iron studs of her shield to no avail. A graceful spin from harm's way and careful maneuver of her weapon caught the knuckles of his sword wielding hand, forcing his weapon to clatter noisily to the dirt, but Kjaran wasn’t defeated so easily. 

His arms came up defensively, lips curled in a savage grin despite the blood that began seeping from his bruising knuckles. “Still hiding behind a shield foolish girl?” 

Milena glared, throwing her shield to the side as she simultaneously tackled him hard by burying her shoulder into his stomach. Her fist connected with his jaw once for good measure, more for being an infuriating ass, but Kjaran grabbed her wrist and full on wrestled her like she stood a lick of a chance. He was indeed far taller, but struggled to catch a grip on her as they rolled through the dirt in attempts to dominate the other. 

Her thighs gripped him hard around the waist finally, familiarly, though she somehow ended up on her back, pinned to the dirt by her wrists and her eyes clashed with his own like cloudless blue skies, clear and intense. Her chest heaved with heavy breath into his, her insides stirring from the familiarity of his weight on her and the rest of the world beyond his thick curtain of silver hair may just as well have disappeared. 

“Wife.” Asger’s voice cut the air, forcing her palms against Kjaran’s chest to remove him from above her and the fire in her husband’s glare made her wish that stabbing feeling in her chest was in fact the Jarl’s sharpened sword. Silence took over the training grounds though everyone scattered as though they simply moved on with their routines. Kjaran stood, nonchalantly brushing himself off while Milena hurried to her feet to do the same. 

“You finished early again.” She stated, inwardly wincing because no matter what she said, it would be touched with the bitter guilt that she carried. Regardless, she forced a smile onto her face, stepping to brush her fingers over Asger’s dirt smudged cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you before the feast.” 

“Clearly.” He remarked coldly, glaring behind her at Kjaran who seemingly ignored the exchange, though Milena knew better than to think the Jarl kept his attention anywhere else. “I thought your wolf had learned his place.” 

“My place is your Jarl’s concern only.” Kjaran bit in a tone that was as warm as a blast of wintery air. She dared to flicker a glance away from her husband, almost relieved to see Nefir at his Jarl’s side with an equally feral look in his darkened brown eyes.

“We should go bathe,” Milena soothed, returning her attention to Asger who tried to poison her with his hard citron eyes. “before the feast tonight.” 

“Keep your seductions wife. I’ll not finish satisfying what this mangy dog has started until he is gone.” He lowered his face, speaking in a hushed and biting tone. “And I’ll not be kind but mark my words, you will remember that you are mine.” 

She swore she heard a deep throated growl from behind her, though Asger hadn’t spoken loud enough for most of those in attendance to hear. He spit, seeing Mag barreling toward them with a furious gait and turned on his heel to leave before one, or more of them, were able to turn on his admittingly justified declarations. 

“Millie..” Milena felt Mag’s fingers at her hand, trying to uncurl her fingers from a white knuckled fist. She hadn’t realized the force in which her nails bit into her palm and eagerly, she pulled her hand from her fellow Maiden’s gentle touch. 

“I’m fine. It was nothing. Asger is just a jealous man.” She almost rolled her eyes at herself but chose to turn her glare toward Kjaran as she folded her arms over her chest stubbornly while he and Nefir went back to training.

“Asger is a pig meant for sacrifice.” Mag growled between her teeth. If emeralds could glow hot it would have perfectly described her hostile glare at the farmer’s back as he retreated toward the heart of town. “I know this isn’t you. You can still div-” 

“I’ll do nothing but get ready for the feast. You should prepare to set sail in the morning.” Milena spoke without passion and ignored Mag’s typical Motherly gaze. “He will be fine when the Northmen leave and I can speak with him. It was just a spar like you and I have played at many times.”

“I don’t know what he threatened you with, but he does not own you.” 

Milena stepped forward aggressively, glaring her vexing eyes back into her Shield Maiden, tired and full of rage. “You think I don’t know this? That I haven’t made my choice with a purpose? I can handle Asger, but you should stick to your duties and ready your ship.” 

“I won’t hesitate to remove his head if he lays another hand on you.” Mag’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she deeply scolded Milena with them before turning on her heel to stalk off toward the boatyard to bother Jǫðurr. 

She didn’t encounter Asger when she went to her house to wash away the dirt still clinging to her skin. Likely for the best as she might have said or done something to betray the innocence that became harder to feign with each of his accusations. It wasn’t until she was dressed in simple linen, adorning an embroidered pinafore with decorative brooches and she stood fastening her hair in braids that Asger made his way home. He ignored her mostly as he undressed and began to wash. 

“Are you quite finished with your foolish accusations?” Milena leaned against one of the support beams of their home and appraised him as he washed, a freshly made tunic she’d slaved over for him draped over her forearm. “You wonder why people talk.” 

“Is that for me?” He gestured toward the garment and she nodded, stepping forward to hand it to him, humming her confirmation. Asger pulled it over his head and began to dress in fresh clothes for the feast. “People talk because my wife-”

“Your wife has done nothing to make people speak suspiciously. And you should stop referring to me as though I’m not right here. People talk because it is you that have scorned our marriage bed to warm others, and you act like an infant when someone so much as looks at me.” 

The smile he gave her then would have been affectionate if the words weren’t so chilling. “I’m not fond of other men with their eyes, or hands on you. And you have little but words to go on about these supposed beds I’ve warmed. You are my wife, and I won’t discuss this further, that wolf will stay away from you.” 

“I know you’re not one for sparring but it was no different than if I trained with Mag. He is Sefi’s guest, and you’ll be respectful tonight.” 

“Yes. Well with any luck the lot of them won’t return.” Asger apparently saw the murder flare behind Milena’s eyes, exhaled a seemingly tired sigh and headed toward the door. “Mag may return, but those Northmen have no place among us. Come, let’s get this night behind us.” 

The feast was prepared, and Sefi’s great hall was crowded and noisy with drums and laughter, warm and hearty smells of meat mingled with the heady scent of ale and burning cedar in the hearth. They were celebrating these Northmen as they would sail out at dawn to retrieve King Erland for negotiations leaving Jǫðurr, the supposed Elf King, in Ragna and Atla’s care as leverage. Asger’s very presence brought a thick tension to the entire gathering when they entered, and Milena swore she could hear their whispers and feel their judging eyes upon her. 

Despite the fact that she brought them wealth while Asger provided them plenty from his farm, they were a poisonous pair, fraught with infertility and infidelity even when they were all still ignorant of Milena’s sins. She remembered a day years ago when their people smiled upon their marriage where they sneered now and whispered their rumors. There was no secret now that he wished an ill will upon Kjaran and his displeasure of Jarl Sefi’s decision to entertain them as guests until their King could absolve them. Milena was only grateful that his words had long lost their sway with their Chieftain, that Asger was powerless. 

Whispers or not, Milena was good at keeping her chin raised as she pushed through the crowded hall on Asger's arm to take her place beside Sefi. Pressing a warm kiss to her cheek, Milena placed a confident smile on her lips and reached for ale before her husband could even remove his arm from her waist. 

"You're eager to be drunk tonight." Asger observed distractedly, seemingly too interested in a hushed conversation with their own boatsmith and Jǫðurr who glanced in their direction with suspicion in his eyes. 

"Yes well, that seems to work in your favor most nights." She grumbled in return, meeting Kjaran's eyes from across the table quite by accident. He seemed unphased, but exotic amongst their clan and he very subtly lifted his drinking horn to her. 

"I still think you should sail with them tomorrow." Sefi spoke low, but Milena became grateful for the distraction. "It's strange that you'd stay behind on such a mission." 

"I promised Asger the year, still hoping for a child, but I will be here to protect you as well." She urged, glimpsing Asger's smile as he no doubt heard her explanation. "I don't think King Erland is foolish enough to try anything, and Mag is more than capable." 

"These men do appear to be trustworthy, but we take a great risk still. Hildr remains docile for now, but we would be daft in trusting them completely. King Erland may storm our shores in wrath with his legions, and our dark guardian may unleash her wolves and allow Ragnarok to devour all worlds." 

"Well Jarl Sefi, perhaps you can also entertain Hildr's wolves as well since you're so dead set on dining with the mangy beasts." Asger remarked, and Milena nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow, making him nearly spit out the ale in his mouth. Despite it, she caught Kjaran nearly betraying his stoicism with a smile, masking it behind his drinking horn with a long drink. 

"Shut your idiot face Asger." Milena hissed, watching Nefir tense beside Mag, who seemed to calm him with hushed words and shot a warning look toward Asger. Milena sighed tiredly, feeling a rift open up around her and wondered if this was what it felt like to be shunned.

"Yes Asger, you're wise to listen to your wife and mind your words in my hall." Sefi frowned only a moment before her face softened in an attempt to keep the mood light. Thankfully, the loud sounds of drunk men singing and happy conversation livened the air enough to drown out the exchange. 

"Ragna and Atla will keep Jǫðurr," Milena changed the subject and sought to ignore the man at her side. "his discovery alone may sway Hildr of any rash decision. It wasn’t much, but she said she was intrigued by him at least. There would be a balance to be restored now that she knows the Light Elves are not completely extinct. Or so Ragna says it will make her think more before she acts." 

"Well, I will take comfort in that and keep your protection close. And I wish you both children soon. Since your parents died that house is too empty for just two." Asger remained silent but triumphantly lifted his cup to Sefi at this and Milena found herself tensing, and seeking Kjaran's gaze across the table. She poured more ale and drank, but nothing seemed to quench her dry throat. 

"I hope to see you as Queen, Sefi. Your mother would be proud." Atla leaned forward on Sefi's other side to offer praise, raising a toast to her Jarl who became wistful with reminiscence. Those around their table hushed the noise down so Sefi could tell her story to the Northmen that sat near her, the four men all fixed their intense stares on the smaller, pale haired woman. 

"Sefa is my family's given name, one I will gift my own daughter with someday, and my true name. As you now know that women here are blessed with gifts from realms outside of Midgard, by Gods and Goddesses who give us favor for the protection of Yggdrasil said to remain ever strong beyond the two mountains that serve as a gateway to a great valley that houses our Tree of Life. Men found us once, when Milena, Atla, Ragna, Mag, and I were just girls and tried to raid our shores. It was a terrifying time, because Ragnarok had never come so close to falling if only to keep the realms of our Gods and Goddesses sacred. Sefa, my Mother's power was passed to me, any lingering strength she possessed is now mine by her grace and she gave her every ounce to preserve these lands and save all worlds with her dying breath. It is my burden to bear, and though we remain shielded by mists, dragons, and creatures only passed to Man's ears in story, you understand why we take such caution to bring you here." 

"Why are you called Sefi then?" Kjaran spoke up, brows furrowed slightly as he absorbed the tale. His eyes were fixed on Sefi, but Milena found herself unable to look anywhere but at him. 

Sefi smiled and took a healthy drink from her cup, leaning back against her throne. "Because Jarl Kjaran, men like you exist. You found me, and knew of my clan of women and thought to raid us as those men had many years ago. Sefi is a man's name, and most Northmen would only raid another Northman if they had some quarrel with them. It is to appeal to power because men like you seem to think women are weak." 

Kjaran lifted the horn he drank from, prompting Nefir, Zephyr, and Jǫðurr to do the same while the other Northmen of his clan followed suit behind him. "To powerful women who protect foolish men." 

Sefi then raised her silver cup, prompting the rest of the hall to do so as well. She giggled girlishly but nodded back to Kjaran with respect. "To my Mother Jarl Sefa, may she bless these halls ever longer!" 

"Now let's feast!" Mag called out, making the hall erupt in cheers and battle cries to honor those of the past that graced the great hall before them. Sefi grinned wide, pleased by the company and legacy she'd already begun to build in place of her late Mother. She practically danced toward Kjaran and his men to engage them in conversation, no doubt trying to learn more about King Erland. 

Asger’s arm kept her anchored to him the whole night, seeming to tighten around her each time Kjaran came within a table's length of her. Milena at least had the satisfaction of feeling Asger's fear of the Northern Jarl who often kept his intimidations in his eyes. As always, the night was cut short for her, Asger gathering her to go home before the festivities she so loved could reach its peak.

Mag was thankfully a forgiving sort, receiving Milena's best wishes well the following dawn when she snuck down to the docks to see them off. It was a concerningly small fleet, populated with younger Shield Maidens and promising young warriors who hadn't seen the bloody throes of battle, mingling with only a few of their more skilled. Jǫðurr appeared to be less than thrilled by the concept of being left behind, though something about the way he hung back, arms folded by Ragna's side made her stomach churn with longing. He was surprisingly content despite the fact that his Jarl agreed to leave him behind as leverage of all things, giving each of his brothers a well received embrace before they moved to board the main ship that Milena recognized as being Kjaran’s. 

"Erland was instructed to bring a heifer, right?" She spoke, catching him before he could board his ship. 

Kjaran turned, glancing down to her with surprise before his mouth softened, and his eyes became kind. "He was." 

"I wanted to make sure, because Joot may not remember this ship. I'll not have my people accidentally eaten." Kjaran's eyes came alive at this and he paused to appraise her a bit more openly. 

"If you'd come along, you could ensure that yourself, but I appreciate the concern." 

Milena nodded in agreeance, glad he understood that he and his men were an extension of what she considered her people, even if she couldn't outwardly show it. "I'll keep to my duties here. Come back with a King, and keep to safer waters." 

His face became unreadable, ashen blue eyes masked with intentions she couldn't afford to read. She longed to join them with everything in her, to stand beside him with the cold and salty breeze and ocean spray against her skin, the wide open skies, and a sense of freedom she never found on solid ground. But Milena reminded herself that her path was home beside her husband, tending to their hearth, and continuing their attempts to fill it with youthful laughter. Kjaran kept her gaze only a moment longer, just barely offered a defeated nod before boarding the ship to lift anchor. 

Days passed, and Asger was better. Milena learned more about her husband's life that she often missed being away for months on exploratory ventures and raids. He took her to a settlement inland, a quaint place she knew to be his clan of origin. Her parents had met his on this trade route ages ago and were taken by their son's beauty. They told her Mother that they were a large, wealthy family, and her parents were fast to make arrangements. Surely a boy so beautiful was as blessed as their daughter. Milena found much later that Asger had been born sickly, unfit for fighting or raiding, and his family was very small. They were farmers, a noble thing, but generally unblessed and followed by misfortune. 

Regardless of the trickery involved in their arranged marriage, Milena had fallen for Asger. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, charming, and even kind. It was refreshing for a young Shield Maiden who had witnessed savagery from bulkier, older men with good virtues but a taste for too much greed and blood. Her hand in his felt new as they walked and traded roots for eggs, jewelry for fine wool, and honey for spices. Those who knew him in this old settlement were charmed by Asger, and she saw more of the man she married as the day grew later and thought perhaps he didn’t belong in their world. More suited to the modest life of farmers and tradesmen than amongst Gods and temperamental guardians.. 

"We'll stay in my old house tonight." He spoke wearily but pleased, finishing securing their wares in the cart pulled by his prized bull, running fingers through his very pale blonde hair, pausing when he caught Milena staring. "What is it?" 

"Nothing, I've enjoyed being away with you." She found herself smiling, and reached to link her arm through his. "It's been so long since I've slept in a bed that isn't ours." 

Asger grinned charmingly and pressed his lips to her temple as he pulled her toward one of the small homes alongside a very small farm, one arm around her, the other guiding their cart forward to store for the night. As soon as the words had left her lips however, a shadow seemed to fall over Milena's heart. She had lost track of the days, of the weeks since she in fact did share a bed with another, and realized it hadn't been so long. Even less time since Asger spent his night or morning in someone else’s. 

It was the first time in recent memory that as they settled in for the night that he seemed content just to hold her, to stay awake in quiet conversation while the older couple that housed them slept just across the room. The crackling of the fire and their steady breathing the only sound other than Asger’s sweetly whispered words and the muffled laughter they tried to contain so they didn’t wake their hosts. It was the first time in so long that she remembered feeling content in his arms, and had he asked she would have given herself to him freely. Milena thought perhaps he was just weary from the day and sought to enjoy this time with him where sleep was the only motive for once.

Change had been needed for them, and by the time they returned home after a couple days of working a short trade route, Milena felt herself finding the man she married in Asger. He was being charming, and playful and while she wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d remain this way, she couldn’t help but allow herself to feel for him. It was either that, or she would spend the rest of her days wondering about Kjaran, and that wasn’t fair to any of them. Milena was a wife, a master of her house, and yet every time she caught a glimpse of the sea, a million memories came back to her in the form of a Jarl with silver hair. 

They worked their farm together, and Milena spent most of her time petting and soothing their pregnant heifer, coaxing and asking for her calf to be born a female, much to Asger’s amusement. He stood by the barn assessing her work with his hands on his hips, smirking and comparing his much more skillful work while she fussed with the animals. “You’re a piss poor farmer.” 

“Well, some of us are more cut out for battle than tending crops. You should be so lucky.” Milena pouted and kissed the heifer’s snout, stroking the bristle fur with affection. Asger chuckled, and she felt his arm snake themselves around her waist, his lips pressed to her cheek. 

“Well you would be better at tending the crops if you weren’t so busy feeding the cows and pigs. They are not pets you know.” She giggled, his lips and breath tickling as they trailed down her neck. “Farming can be taught in time, but you have a way with the creatures.” 

“It appears you are no different than the animals then.” Milena mused turning her head to kiss him gently on the lips. A steady rain began to fall and mischief flickered in his pale green eyes, lips quirking in that charming, wide grin. 

“I can show you an animal Wife.” Asger grinned then, and the two began to chase across the field in peels of laughter through the rain as it became a downpour. She shrieked when Asger threw a bit of mud at her, and as the rain came harder it became war in her mind because Milena wasn’t a woman to lose a fight. Her sides hurt with laughter as the mud coated couple played in the dirt and rain, and she somehow lost herself in Asger so much that they made love right there in the dirt they worked. It was the first time she gave herself to him in such a manner since their marriage was new and she had such hopes for love and family like a foolish, stupid girl. 

Milena wasn’t stupid though. She could see the minute and irritating familiarity in Asger as the day their fleets would return grew closer and the Northmen would return with a King. He was more aggressive, his accusatory comments returning along with his obsessive notions and at night Asger was as predatory as ever. It was almost as though she could feel the insecurity in his hands, no passion or love in his lips but possessive need. When he felt as though she didn't respond to his primal whims he became almost violent, especially when she expressed a weariness or defeated sadness of his fruitless attempts to bring a child into their home. It was as though Asger tried to force her body as well as her mind to comply with him and as night would fade, he shifted into a drastically different, almost loving husband. 

“While Jǫðurr is here, I thought I might ask him to begin crafting a new ship.” She suggested casually after a long day of training and working the farm with him, stirring a pot of stew while Asger bathed. He paused to glare at her while she finished. 

“You said you would give us the year.” 

“It will take some time to complete. But he is said to be the best, and I’d like a sturdier ship for next year’s raids.” Milena ignored the bite to his tone and gave the broth a taste. “You know I keep my word Asger, we have a year.” 

“And you would spend our fortune on more ships and sails-”

“Pardon you, I  _ earned _ our fortune Husband. I plan on earning more during the next Summer’s raid and I will need a ship to do so. Nothing extravagant, just something sturdy to sail the seas and haul gold.”

“Njal can build your ship. That Northman will be leaving shortly after their return with his wolfish Jarl, and we will be busy with our growing family.” 

Milena huffed and turned with exasperation to frown at him while he dressed. “Doing what Asger? Likely we’ll be exactly as we are now.” 

“And whose fault is that, love? Perhaps if you stayed and tended your house instead of wasting our gold on that half witted Elf and his ships, the Gods might be kinder to us.” 

“Don’t be a dolt Asger. Forget I said anything about Jǫðurr or ships, and let’s try to enjoy a quiet dinner.” Milena began filling bowls with her mediocre attempt at cooking. There was a time he would have tried to teach her, since Asger was far better at preparing their meals than she was, but had long since given up on her. 

“Charming the Elven idiot now too wife?” 

“Husband, you will do well not to test my patience further with your accusations. I grew quite fond of our time together until you began your idiot tirades again. The intent of our arrangement was always to find love. You make it very difficult sometimes.” 

At this Asger seemed a bit more docile, staring into his stew with a tight lipped expression. “Your cooking is still little to be desired. But it’s getting better.” 

He held her close to him with smothering intensity, becoming manic or anxious the closer Frigga’s Day came when they predicted the return of Kjaran and his King. To escape, Milena spent as much time as she could by the shoreline in solitude to pray for their safe returns after training. She missed long talks with Mag, the warmth of the Shield Maiden’s embrace, and though she hadn’t felt his touch in too long, she prayed she could forget it. She prayed her heart could endure the strength of Kjaran’s heart and the truths behind his wolfish blue eyes. 

Milena was restless, eager for more lighthearted company, and couldn’t think of anyone better than Jǫðurr to ease the maddening heartache with his mischievous demeanor. She wandered down to the docks with the intention of bringing him water as her excuse for interrupting his labor. The Sun was hot after all, and she was glad to find him there instead of the shop Sefi set up for him near the forge. Jǫðurr worked shirtless, his sweat sheened skin had taken on a pinker hue as he worked to improve and rebuild their ships with materials and wood he insisted were better, though harder to obtain in their region. 

"We need more evergreen down here. The wood is sturdier, more flexible." He explained, smiling broadly when he noticed her approach. He was breathless, tossing the hammer he worked to the ground to plop himself on the deck beside her to accept the water she offered.

"I think you'll get the men we do have into shape rather quickly with your demands." 

"They are soft." He scoffed, glancing to the side at her with trickery on his lips. "It's no wonder the beautiful Ragna has chosen me." Jǫðurr winked a sparkling blue eye and took another drink. "Beauty and brawn is a hard attribute to find in such a man." 

"You think rather highly of yourself Jǫðurr. A trait that will land you on your ass if Ragna hears it from you." Milena laughed, reaching playfully to tousle his sweat-dampened hair.

"Ragna tells me I am some lost Elven Prince. The light to her darkness, and we have land to claim. We fight, and I tell her that she is a mad woman, but I’m left wondering..." 

"I could believe that. You're probably a King by now if that is the case. I have heard of Elves, the woodland warriors that occupy forests near the Hot Springs are supposedly Ragna's people. She doesn't dare go there, but they are said to dwell with the Dwarves on the other side of that mountain. Those forests were said to belong to the Light Elves, supposedly conquered long before I was born." 

"That story makes me sad." 

"Because it is likely you are Elven. Ragna has never been wrong and she is a Priestess of Dark Elves. We don't know how long she has been with us, but it's said that she had forsaken her people until her path was known. Now here you are." They exchanged kind smiles, her hand falling to his shoulder in comfort. "There is no shame feeling sorrow for your lost Kin, but they have brought you to us. And Ragna to you." It had been a few weeks, no secret to the growing bond between the strong and beautiful carpenter and the mysterious Seer. Jǫðurr smiled a bit more, and Milena leaned forward to whisper, "Freyja blesses this love. Ragna will resist, she always does, but she would accept your affections once she feels they have been earned." 

"Beauty is always worth it, adventure and danger welcome. Something tells me this mysterious Seer is all of such things." 

"You will do well to keep your distance from the wives of other men Carpenter. It may be acceptable in the North, but I assure you that you're far from home." Milena whipped around at the sharp feel of Asger's fingers digging into her shoulder, pale green eyes fixed hard on Jǫðurr who stood casually with a raised brow and danger in his darkened blue eyes. He spit to the side, taking a step closer, furious blues locked onto the bruising grip her Husband kept on her. 

"Honor is held in high regard under Jarl Kjaran. The North is a place of such pride because of that honor, and the justice he himself brings to those that tread upon it. As a man who brings too little to his own house and sees fit to put his hands on his woman, you should choose your words wisely." 

"Please.." Milena pleaded, placing her hand on Asger's chest, the other on Jǫðurr to keep them apart. "No tresspasses have been made Asger, you're being a fool. Let's go home together." 

"These are my lands you stand in. Your word means nothing." He ignored her stern pleas and glared hard into Jǫðurr. They were roughly the same size, but the boatsmith was still far stronger in body than the farmer, and a far more skilled warrior than Asger who had never fought a battle in his life. 

"They will mean a great deal more when I explain to your Jarl the sordid affair you keep with your Carpenter's daughter. I would hate to shame the man's family that way. He is a good man." Jǫðurr's eyes slit into more dangerous daggers, a wicked smirk on his lips that sent Asger into a rage. 

Milena struggled to restrain her Husband who spat curses and fought her to get to Jǫðurr who didn't flinch, staying sturdy as the thick beam he leaned against. She hit the dirt hard when Asger pushed her aside, and a burning rage settled behind Jǫðurr’s usually steady blue eyes. 

“Homeless wretch, fucking abandoned Elf, what would you know of it?” Asger spat, making danger flicker in Jǫðurr’s eyes as he stood straight and helped Milena to her feet. “You’ll take your hands off my wife.” 

“My hands are more deserving than yours, you marish ass. You’re the fool who fucks every gilt he can find when he has a Goddess in his bed, at least I would not harm her.” Asger roared, tackling Jǫðurr to the shore of the beach beyond the dock, no doubt hitting several large rocks on the way down. 

She scrambled to try and reach them, to break up their boyish fight, yelling over the sound of fists hitting muscle and curses ringing out across the valley. Milena called out to Asger, only stopping at the feel of a gentler touch against her shoulder. She met the hardened eyes of Sefi, her soft features tensed and almost sorry. 

"Enough." Sweet as her voice was normally, the small girlish figure clad in pale colors and silver's tone had a bark to it, a command that paused all motion on the beach or otherwise. Sefi scowled at the two roughed up boys on the beach who comically looked almost similar, matching expressions from Atla and Ragna who as always flanked their Jarl's side. "Milena. Did the Northman provoke your husband?" 

"No, Sefi." She replied truthfully, otherwise it would have landed Jǫðurr as prisoner once more, or worse. A heavy sigh heaved her shoulders, stare meeting the ground in front of her, ashamed and embarrassed once more by Asger. 

"Then STOP carrying on like little boys. Asger, you will do better to treat my guests with respect to your Jarl and not cast aside your wife. She is perhaps the only reason you still remain under my protection." He began to speak, trying to defend himself but Sefi spoke over him. A calm that did more to exact her own dominance than any of Asger's brutality. "If your foolishness continues, you'll no longer be able to hide behind your wife. You're lucky this Northman didn't cut you down just for putting your hands on her, they are more brutal than I, though I appreciate the ideal. We have an understanding then?" 

Asger spit blood off to the side, glaring back at Sefi's unwavering stare, her brow raised in anticipation for his answer. Milena simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow her for the stinging tears in her eyes she refused to shed, her breath cut short. Without another word, her Husband brushed passed, simply stalking back down the road toward their house. 

"Forgive me." Jǫðurr offered quietly, addressed to Sefi but his tone, and the hand he placed on Milena's shoulder told her he meant the confirmation he'd given her of Asger's blatant infidelities. Like she didn't already know, but she felt mostly betrayed that their own boatsmith who she spoke to almost daily had failed to deliver such news to her himself. 

"Do not apologize to me, but my Jarl." Milena forced out in a harsh mumble, brushing his hand from her shoulder and stormed off in the direction of Sefi's haven of a longhouse. 

Arti greeted her, pressing his head in her hand affectionately with a loud purr. Sefi and the others trailed behind her no doubt, perhaps to speak with Jǫðurr, but Milena didn't care. She shuffled her way into an old room she used to share with any number of the girls growing up, falling onto the bed with a shuddering breath. Arti bounded up beside her, the gentle weight of his head on her shoulder, and the warmth at her side comforting if nothing else. 

"I am in no place to discuss your house Milena, but you have been troubled. Asger's name has been whispered among merchants and our people. As your Jarl, I am worried for my key protector and the integrity of my legacy that she did not lead a dangerous mission to meet a King who may or may not massacre our people to get to us." Sighing, the fair-haired girl sat beside her, delicate fingers brushing through the fringe Milena wore around her eyes that she couldn't have been bothered to pin out of her face. "As your friend, I only want to know that you're alright." 

"I only try to be a good wife. I am yours first Sefi. I would divorce him if you spoke the words. I am strong, powerful, you know this. But Asger holds my contract, and I..." She swallowed, pausing to gather her lies with closed eyes, "I abide by it, but my loyalty is to you." 

Sefi frowned, peering down into her face with the bluest eyes, ethereal against hair she wore nearly white as fallen snow. Gathering her skirts, she shifted, and lay beside Milena, sandwiching her between the giant white cat and her Jarl. 

"You still know how to answer my question without answering my question. I would never ask for you to shame yourself with the facility of divorce Milena, certainly never ask for you to leave Asger. Not unless he meant to cause you harm of course, though I think Mag has been longing to send him for sacrifice." Sefi laughed lightly in her throat, listlessly brushing fingers through strands of Milena's golden hair. 

"I'm fine Sefi. But do you think that I can stay here tonight? It's been so long since we had wine like girls and swam in the sea by moonlight." 

"Yes!" Sefi's eyes glittered, her smile growing wide and excited. The Jarl was still very much a young girl in many ways, keeping that calm serenity in her duties but in private allowed the fact that she was much younger than them come out, away from prying eyes. 

It had been so long since they sat around the fires, wine in hands to gossip and discuss matters unrelated to the settlement, though to her dismay she found they really only wanted to gossip about the Northmen. She missed Magnhildr, though they had a lovely time speculating the relationship blossoming between her and Nefir, Milena was most surprised to hear of Atla's growing admiration for a Western man and his fascinating knowledge of the seas. 

She specifically avoided the subject of Kjaran, even after too much wine she spent her night averting Sefi's attention to speculate what King Erland was like, if he was as handsome as the others, if he was brave, or if he had many children already. It worked, though Milena found her wine-induced thoughts constantly churning with little else than a tall man with flowing silver hair and sun darkened skin. She even dreamed about him that night, sailing across a silvered and darkened sea. She dreamed of an insatiable night in his arms from the hot springs to her cabin. She dreamed about a kiss, warm and full of something beautiful and foreign that made her weep. 

Commotion outside interrupted her dreams before Milena was ready to wake. Head throbbing as Arti lapped at the tears she'd cried in her sleep with a rough tongue against her cheek. Joyful as the noise was, she was ready to cut them all down with her sword if only for a few more hours of sleep, but it was a sure sign of a fleet pulling into the harbor. It made her want to cry more, stomach churning with more than just the wine in hopes that all had returned to her safely. 

"Milena they've returned!" Atla rushed through the door, her usual soft and sweet voice scraped her brain like iron on iron. She smiled despite Milena's glare with knowing, gleaming blue eyes. "Yes, all of them, plus our King." 

"I will run home and make myself presentable." She responded groggily, scratching Arti's head. It felt like a stone set at the bottom of her stomach, her head ached, and she hoped that Asger would have already left for the fields or the docks already, unprepared to deal with his probably accusatory comments. It was the first night in many years that she was not on a ship and did not share their bed. 

Milena changed into a finer dress of dark blue linen that cut lower on her chest as the days grew warmer, taking time to drink water to ease the ache in her head and ornament her face with kohl and her hair with intricate braids and glass beads that would glimmer in the Sun. She told herself, and Arti as he sat on his haunches judging her, that it was all for their King. 

Even Asger's head turned in her approach to the crowd gathered near Sefi's longhouse, and she warily approached her husband's side, linking her arm through his own. Her head fell against his shoulder, hoping for once that he might spare her his poison tongue that morning. 

"Your wolf will be pleased with your appearance, my beautiful Wife. Shall we see if he'd like to watch when I-" 

"Don't be crude Asger. The Jarl will watch nothing of us because nothing will happen between us today. I am still angry." She felt him scoff at her side and sought to ignore him. Milena wasn't a woman for patience and with Asger, it was damned near gone. Instead of worrying about him further, she peeked through the crowd to find Kjaran, his strange hair and height made this easy, standing beside a man nearly five years younger than himself and about as tall as the beautiful Jǫðurr. 

King Erland’s presence was arresting, something oddly calming and intense about his demeanor which was fierce with a certain gentleness she’d never seen in a King before. Glossy, ink black hair fell long passed his shoulders creating a cobalt vibrancy to his deep blue eyes. The rust red of his tunic and accents of gold was complementary to his choice in furs and more olive-toned skin. Tense as it was, his cheeks dimpled when he smiled and addressed the crowd with his eyes, seeming to relax only just slightly when Kjaran bent to whisper something into his ear. 

“Tonight we celebrate the safe return of our people, and my guests. Negotiations are for tomorrow and perhaps by weeks end we will have agreements." Sefi gave them all that girlish smile, one only Milena knew was telling that she'd already made her decision based on her shameless appreciation for King Erland’s exotic beauty. Her smile fell however, because from the corner of her eye she spied two beady dark eyes peering between nearby stalls beside Sefi’s home, blending into the shadows. Hildr, no doubt checking on them, curious and untrusting. The eyes shifted to her then and promptly disappeared into the dark leaving Milena unsettled.

"Thank you, Jarl Sefi. I'm pleased to finally meet you so I can express my gratitude for your hospitable treatment of my men. I expect this will be a rather fruitful arrangement." She tore her attention back to the King as he spoke, and Milena had to fight her amusement at the slightly unamused glance that passed between Kjaran and Erland, who took cautious measures to hide his appreciative stare at Sefi. She kept her face in check for the moment though, not wanting to further antagonize Asger who'd long since grown bored at her side. When her eyes finally met Kjaran’s her skin began to cease crawling. Between Hildr’s chilling display, and her husband’s hand at her waist, Milena could only find comfort in the forbidden paleness of his eyes.

* * *

She was more beautiful than any sight he remembered seeing. Like a Queen, Milena easily stole attention from the gathered masses. Kjaran fought the urge to stare through the crowd, not exactly eager to find her Husband's maddened glare on him, so he focused on Erland who seemed enchanted by Sefi, to say the least, and rather taken by their elaborate and accommodating settlement. 

"I'll apparently be housed at the main longhouse with her." Erland muttered quietly, warily shifting his eyes as the crowd began to thin. 

"Fitting I suppose if she's to be your future bride." Kjaran returned, simply nodding to Nefir in passing, one of many members of their crew ready to bathe and properly sleep. Though as suspected there was always work to be done. 

"That is yet to be decided. You couldn't think of any other reason or method out of this madness?" 

"She's quite pretty." Kjaran smirked down at Erland, who became almost bashful at the comment. "And she didn't behead us, so I'd say that's a resounding victory." 

"Yes except now I'll be trading my sword with a woman I don't know to save my men and my ships, no thanks to you." 

"Stay open, you could do worse than Sefi, and think of the power there is to be gained. She's beautiful, wealthy, and a female Jarl over land and sea riddled with things I have only heard of in stories." 

"And you speak of power in these women." Erland nodded toward Milena in particular, seeming to notice how Kjaran's breath would catch as she laughed with Ragna and Sefi without a care for her husband. 

"Yes. She exhibited strange powers of voice, tells love fortunes sometimes. She is a daughter of Freyja as Sefi is a daughter of Frigg. A perfect match I think." 

"Tyr's fool is giving romantic advice? I think I should stay wary, your foolish bravery only ever lands me in these situations. But for once you're right, even though I know when you're averting the conversation." 

"I'm weary." Kjaran frowned, patting his King's shoulder. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable, Sefi is an avid fan of celebrations. We'll likely be drunk for a week with plenty of gift sacrifice for Odin's favor and stomachs full to burst. I won't be far away." 

"You rarely are." Erland smiled, clapping his shoulder and turning to entertain Sefi no doubt, leaving Kjaran to go check on the old man that housed him. 

It was a few days later, in the wild throes of a celebration like he'd never seen before that he found himself staring listlessly across a crowded room while Milena danced and poured wine for her friends and regrettably her husband. Her dress was blue as her eyes and belted by thick leather bands to accent a small waist and shapely hips that her long hair danced around as she swayed to the beat of soft drumming. 

"I see why you're so captive by her." Erland leaned against his shoulder, mildly drunk but not without his wit. His smirk was infuriating, however, King or not, he hadn't stopped poking Kjaran about Milena since their ships met at the familiar edges of the mist. Thankfully, there were no hungry sirens to greet them as well. "I know you mean to marry me off to this Moonlit Jarl, but if Milena weren't married..." 

"I would overthrow you and take your crown if that's what it took." Kjaran frowned, seeing that glint of humor in his old friend's eyes that only grew more amused when he growled his disapproval. But Erland softened, and sighed a deep knowing breath. 

"I would hand you my crown if it meant she'd be yours." He eyed his King warily, resting a well-meaning hand on his shoulder. 

"I am not meant to be anyone's King. Maybe no one's Husband, or Father again. My honor comes from shedding the blood of others for the sake of my Gods, my King, and my Country." 

"Always loyalty, and justice with you. Does Tyr carry no love into battle with him? Blood doesn't shed for Odin's enjoyment, there is family for it. Jarl Sefi might make a fine bride, but there have been three days of celebration and sacrifice." 

"Yes. The Jarl here is a jovial sort with an appetite for celebrations of victories and extravagant hospitality." Kjaran chuckled, leaning tiredly against the table. "I think we've spent most of our time here drunk on ale and working to the bone." 

"So no different than the North." Erland chuckled softly, appraising his pale blue eyes as they lowered into the horn he drank from. "Do you enjoy it here? Should I marry Sefi, I would move my house. I would like it if you would stay as well." 

"I'm not sure I could. As much as it pleases Jǫðurr to watch Milena's husband squirm like a fish out of water, I cannot bear the thought of-" 

"Understood." Erland interrupted, expression growing solemn with the news. "Nefir would stay. His Mother and Daughter would be on the first ship. I think he means to marry Mag." 

"You would be well protected in my absence then, though I would be at a loss for a Blacksmith worth a damn but there are more important things. And he has taught some of our boys well." 

"Yes well, Jǫðurr would stay as well." This made Kjaran swallow harder, but he nodded in resignation. "Zephyr is too loyal to you, you won't need to worry about him. Though I think he's met his match in Sefi's handmaiden." 

"They will do what pleases them. I would gladly join your fleets for raids. You'll always hold what power I have as your own. You should marry Sefi." 

"You're so quick to marry me off as of late." 

"I am quick to see you happy. She is youthful and just. Her settlement suits you." 

"And what of you dear friend? You'll go North to be alone and sulk? There's hardly a suitable wife up there for you." 

"A King should secure his legacy." Kjaran waved Erland off with a roll of his eyes and took a long drink from his horn. He loathed the thought of being parted from his men, his brothers, but he couldn't stay. "A Jarl can bide his time with slaves and Thralls. My legacy will be tales of my travels and perhaps I can meet a glorious end by iron." 

"It isn't enough." Erland sounded tired himself, weary where the people here were still vibrant and endlessly energetic. Kjaran's lips quirked, watching Erland peer over his shoulder while the party raged around them. "She is beautiful, joyful, and has such a welcoming home." 

"Well, you haven't been tied to that pole and interrogated yet. Sefi can be rather frightful for being such a small thing." 

"I will marry her." Erland spoke resolutely as though by some divine thought, but he chuckled, standing to join the Moonlit Jarl's side. "If for no other reason than to negotiate for my ships back, and your freedom." 

Kjaran chuckled, lifting his horn knowing ships and freedom had little to do with his decision to marry the girl, even after so few days. The King's rather wistful expression did little to hide his excitement. 

"Long may you reign. May you bear many sons." Kjaran smirked, glancing very briefly at Milena who was set in her ways to ignore Asger as he clung to her the way a child might beg attention from his mother. "I'm going to turn in, we'll have to begin arrangements-" Erland was gone by the time he looked back, already sitting beside Sefi, whispering things only the Gods knew that made her laugh in a giddy sort of fashion. Sighing, Kjaran threw back what was left of the ale in his horn, and stood to leave. It was clear a decision had been made.

* * *

"Let's go home." Asger muttered grimly, downing the last of his ale punctuated by an appreciative belch. Milena rolled her eyes, the night was still early and the drums were only just becoming that perfect beat of erratic drunken rhythm for dancing. "I want to learn more about your absence from my bed last night." 

"I stayed here, with Sefi since you had taken it upon yourself to be more insufferable than you were the day prior. Your accusations of me only lend to your own guilt." 

"All I am guilty of is warming my nights while you so insistently leave for weeks, sometimes months on end." He hiccuped, clearly drunk, laughing darkly. "I've considered taking another wife that may bring children into our home." He purred this seductively, quietly, yet it was all she heard in that loud room. It was the first time he'd so openly confirmed his infidelity, not that it mattered much to a man that owned any parcel of land, but it stung her far deeper than expected. "You cannot say you haven't done the same. You do wear guilt beautifully when your Northern Wolf is present, Wife."

Milena stood quickly, nearly toppling the chair she sat in with her heart blending into the loud beat of drumming in her ears as Asger burst into dark, maniacal laughter. Without so much as a word to anyone, she left quickly before he could openly accuse her or say something volatile that might make Mag take his head right then and there. 

A celebration was no place for such dramatics, so Milena pushed her way toward the door for a stroll by the sea. Meanwhile, Sefi and Erland's marriage announcement cheered from behind her as the cooler breeze hit her. She didn't turn back. 

Asger was going mad. That much was clear by the glazed look in his eyes which was all the more reason she could never admit to her crimes against him. It was clear that he knew something had transpired in her absence, somehow linked itself fittingly to Kjaran, but Asger always did have a strange way of knowing her heart better than she did. It was partially why she fell so hard in the beginning when he was still just a sweet boy teaching her how to fish, and different methods of farming. Blowing a harsh breath through her lips, she lifted her face to the waning Moon in prayer, wishing she could love him. But she didn’t.

Men and women still lingered in the streets, but it was late when she got home. Asger had sobered, strangely calm and collective as she hadn't seen him in years. He turned in his usual seat by the fire, lips quirked in something half defeated, but almost loving in his appraisal of her. 

"Did you enjoy your walk?" Milena nodded to him slowly, those peridot green eyes vivid against the firelight and pale tones of his skin and hair. He looked so young then, beauty restored from the possessive and wickedness that had stolen it. "I am cruel because I am selfish Milena. I miss you." 

It hadn’t been so long since the last time he had spoken her name, or addressed her as a husband might. For a moment she even thought maybe her prayers had been heard and answered, or a path corrected from what she thought was a nearly fatal error when she took to the seas on a silly whim because there was snow on the air. Milena stepped into Asger's waiting arms as he stood, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling horror when she searched for love within her, and still felt nothing.

"Do you miss me Asger? Or do you miss what we once were? It's as though we have become something like strangers." 

"Come to bed." Not acknowledging her questions, he pulled back to gaze into her eyes like one might admire their trove of gold. There was a greed to it that he'd hidden well initially. "We'll enjoy each other, perhaps pray together for a child." Asger pressed his lips to her temple. Milena felt tired, she had been avoiding their bed and her wifely duties for days, but for once did not protest when he began to unlace her dress.

"Did you mean what you said? That you might bring another wife into our bed?" She gazed blankly into the fire, her words freezing Asger to the spot, pausing the amorous kisses he’d placed on her shoulder once he had the gown loose. 

"Someone has to bring honor to this house, Milena. You can continue on your raids while I fill our home with children. Nothing would change." 

"Nothing would change?" She shrugged him away, peering back in outrage over her shoulder with a step further into the room. 

"Oh come now Milena, your body is sunken as your ship. Beautiful to behold but empty and broken. After six years you insist Freya answers your favor when she brings us no child. You are forsaken, and you need me now." She retracted, disgusted when he stepped forward and reached for her. Wide-eyed horror was all she offered him, her vision clouded in red and her fingers twitched with the urge to reach for a hot poker resting in their hearth. 

"How dare you...." She gasped, meaning to growl, to scream with all the rage that shook her hands. "I have no need of anyone, least of all you."

"Please. I know something happened. I could place you on trial and there would be no evidence to suggest your innocence. Without me, and with your barren womb you would be exiled as a useless crone, and an adulterer." Something wicked took over his features the closer Asger came, and her rage began to boil over. "You don't even have a ship. What good are you now?" 

"Ships can be rebuilt, but you have made very clear that what has fallen out of favor, is us." Milena pushed him aside when she stormed passed toward the door where two swords adorned the frame. 

"What are you doing? Don't be a fool. I've set to marry the Boatsmith's daughter." Her eyes brimmed and filled.

"That's perfect then. Because we're through, I divorce you Asger." 

"Your empty declarations do not frighten me, wife. You claim this out of anger, and out of ceremony. You know that I am right." Nerves ticked in his hands, clenching at his sides. Milena wasn't the most rational of people, not when she was this furious. Not when she'd lost everything and given up on the rest like this. Not when someone so unfitting tried with all his might to call her bluff and own her so completely. It mounted and surged into something inside of her she couldn’t control.

"Fine." She growled, throwing the door open and rushing into the street, uncaring that her dress hung loosely around her shoulders, her hair was mussed and her eyes crazed. She needed someone, anyone that held any modicum of power in their community. Milena didn't care who. Asger called out to her from the door, but she was already crossing the mud slicked path to the timber house of the old man she cared for. "Come quick, you're needed." 

She grabbed an arm. She didn't care who it belonged to, but she dragged one of the men listing outside along with her, glaring daggers into Asger's eyes as they barreled back into her house regardless of the person's questioning the reason for this madness. Having heard the commotion, a small crowd began to gather in the street, gathering near the threshold of her homestead to spectate.

"Milena, what is the meaning of this?" She whipped around to meet familiar pale blue eyes that darted between herself and Asger.

"Yes Wife, what exactly is your intention?" Asger grew smug, arms crossed over his chest. "Some confession you need to proclaim or do you have some other purpose for your mangy wolf?" 

Kjaran growled behind her, but Milena ignored it all, turning on her toes to rather carelessly rip one of the swords down from above the door. It was a flimsy thing, perhaps a sign from the start when they exchanged swords with their marriage vows that he would bring no power to their house. Their lack of Sons better off for the poor quality of the iron that shattered the moment it hit the timber flooring of their home at Asger's feet. 

"I DIVORCE YOU, YOU SWINE!" Her shriek filled the house and earned surprised looks from the two men in front of her, murmurs whispering in from outside. Asger balked at the broken sword at his feet, slowly trailing it to the disgruntled sight of her. "I divorce you." She proclaimed quieter, "The Gods do not smile on our union, they never have or we would have children, and you would love me for more than my dowry and protection. The vanity of my beauty that you seek to OWN!" Milena began to pace like a madwoman, gesturing wildly. "Your love is vapid, and empty, and you can take this rubbish for the next poor woman you trick into a childless marriage!" 

She hated the tremble in her voice, the shaking of her hands and that there were tears streaming from her eyes. Mostly she hated appearing so weak in front of a Jarl, but Kjaran in particular. His very presence made it harder to breathe around the beating of her own heart. 

"You speak out of anger." Asger pleaded weakly, Milena spat on his broken sword in response. "Surely it's not an honored agreement. You're just angry." 

"HONOR IT JARL!" Milena jarred Kjaran, his eyes wide under thick fringe of silver. They searched hers for any uncertainty, and she pleaded with him through shameful tears. Divorce was no place for a childless woman, a Shield Maiden without a ship, but she knew there was no life for her with Asger. 

"If you are certain, then the agreement is honored. Asger, you are no longer husband of Milena." Kjaran's eyes shifted from her, and she blinked, sending tidal waves for tears rolling down her face. 

"I am certain... and Asger will leave my house at once." 

Her now Ex-Husband of course went into a rage, it didn't take much for Kjaran to restrain him while every insult and threat poured from his lips until he pulled his sword on Asger. Thankfully Zephyr appeared with the commotion to help drag the farmer away, attempting to shoo away the crowd as the weight of it all made Milena crumble to her knees in the lingering silence save the slow crackle of the fire. Her chest grew tight, breath hard to come by and it felt like an eternity that she sat in disbelief, before she noticed Kjaran standing in her doorway. 

"Please... just go." She whispered, not able to look at him. There was nothing left to say, she needed to be alone. 

"Milena I-" 

"LEAVE!" Her voice was hoarse, had she been crying so hard? Their eyes locked, and he gave her a solemn nod. But she didn't really want him to leave. Milena found herself wordless and wanting to bury herself in him, allow him to assure her she'd be fine. Instead, he lingered long enough to clear the broken sword from the floor, and left her to crumble in the emptiness of her house. It was done.


	9. Washed Away in Blood

Kjaran’s eyes flickered from her house to the road with Zephyr’s return from escorting an enraged Asger to the house of the native Carpenter’s house. It wasn’t much of a secret thanks to Jǫðurr that Milena’s now ex-husband was having an affair with the man’s daughter, and amongst the horrid things he spat at her as they pulled him from her house, they learned he had been making arrangements to acquire another wife. 

Zephyr sighed through his lips deeply, folding his arms over his chest in his approach to Kjaran’s side. “What a night.” 

“You could say that.” He responded blandly, keeping his pale eyes on the quiet house across the road. Without bothering to glance at his companion, he could see from the corner of his eye how Zephyr watched him in search for some reaction to it all that Kjaran would not deliver. “Keep an eye on this house a moment, I’ll discard those metal scraps for Nefir to melt down at his forge.” 

“Of course.” Zephyr peered up at him, his knowing green eyes glinting in the dark as though he thought about saying something, but refrained as if he knew better. “I’ll head inside to sleep when you return, but I will watch her.” 

Dread settled into his stomach like a boulder, walking the darkened path toward the center of town where Nefir’s forge was long cold with the late hour. Kjaran feared no man, but the wickedness in his expression and blasphemous poison that vomited from his mouth left him inclined to believe that it wasn’t the last he would see of Asger. Noting the dullness of the blade, Kjaran frowned to himself, leaving the shattered remains of the sword in a heap at Nefir’s smithing station. The silence on the way back was deafening, and he had hoped the brisk jaunt would have calmed his nerves, but it only served to leave him in a heightened state of paranoid awareness.

"Anything?" Kjaran relented to the bench outside the old man's house when he went to relieve Zephyr from his post, keeping his eyes keen on the shadows around her house. He could see the very faint glow of a fire through the cracks, but no other sound or movement.

"Nothing. He would neigh if his balls were cut off, impotent mare, but perhaps he has enough sense to leave it well enough alone. For tonight anyway, you should rest." Moving to go inside, Zephyr clapped a hand to Kjaran's shoulder, knowing his taste for the just, and well being of those around him, that the Jarl would not rest so easily. Even if this was not his settlement to protect. 

"You rest Zephyr. Keep a sharp ear in case of trouble. I'll get my rest soon enough." 

"Death doesn't count." Zephyr returned with a broad smile, green eyes glinting in the dark. Kjaran rolled his eyes and settled against the side of the timber house, allowing the Englishman to retreat to his borrowed bed. 

That cold pit sitting like an anchor in his stomach grew heavier. He couldn't place the feeling, only that he felt unsettled that a powerful woman like her was capable of breaking. He'd seen the vulnerable side of her, but nothing of the withered soul he'd witnessed this evening. The politics of it were clear of course, a divorced, childless woman with no means for escape, a Shield Maiden without a ship would have become one of those vagabond old hags up North. Children often told tales of the old witches who'd become exiled and barren to wastelands and darker corners of wooded terrain. He'd never want that for her, forever remembering the first time he'd ever seen her, powerful and beautiful like a Valkyrie, or Freyja herself. 

Kjaran had begun to nod off at some point, unable to keep his eyes open sometime just before dawn. Zephyr may have been right, he should have gone to sleep, but as if something called to him in dreams he jarred awake, pale eyes skimming the night for the source of his unease. His stomach clenched with the memory of the crazed look in Asger's eyes, it was directed at him as if he knew perhaps that something had happened, something that for her sake he'd pretend to have forgotten. That telling restlessness grew, a familiar sensation that would allow him no leisure. The last time Kjaran felt anything so certainly disturbing, was the day he returned from raids to learn that his son had died. 

Firelight still faded beyond Milena's door, and he was certain he heard rustling somewhere that sharpened his senses and set the hairs at the back of his neck on edge. Kjaran swallowed the sickening feeling in his gut, standing silently to peer hard into the barely lit home across the path. Where she should have been alone, he saw movement.

His eyes hardened, jaw set, Kjaran crept closer, closing his fingers around the hilt of a large knife he kept sheathed at his hip, keeping a careful stride as he approached Milena’s house. The door swung open silently, just enough for him to peer inside, but he saw no one in the main room. He was just about to turn back after a moment of painful stillness, listening for any sound above the low crackling of the fire. He heard rustling, a struggle, a strained breath, shuffling against furs. 

Kjaran moved forward into the room, keeping a deadly silence only warriors learn when they become men. He needed no giant flag to tell him who the man attached to the pale head of hair he glimpsed belonged to, and for a moment he thought she’d taken Asger back into her bed. However, the erratic motions, the throaty sounds of a struggle like someone choking poured a hot anger through him. Kjaran was propelled forward as it appeared that he tried to force himself upon her, rage burning hotter when he saw Asger’s hands around Milena’s throat. Her eyes rolled unnaturally, face purple, eyes wide and glassy, limbs heavy and cumbersome in their motions. She weakened quickly, Asger squeezing the life from Milena with an iron grip. He was killing her, and with a swift motion Kjaran unsheathed his knife, vision turning red as reason gave way to blind fury.

* * *

By some grace of the Gods, Milena had fallen into a sort of strange and restless sleep. She thought she dreamed, some horrifying foreboding premonitions materializing in the shadows, seeking to choke her with their dark intentions. It wasn't until she truly ceased to breathe that her eyes flew open, that choking sensation becoming crushing under someone's real fingers. When she met the madness of Asger's pale green eyes, the firelight made his sinister glare give him the appearance of a thing from Hel's realm. She pried at his hands with her fingers, trying to kick at him and squirm, trying to scream or use her power against him but he gripped her throat like her flesh was something malleable. Despite what others thought of him, Asger was no fool. He knew to go for her throat or he wouldn't have had any sort of chance against her. 

Milena gasped for air that would not come, clawing at his face and hands, her kicking becoming desperate as the room began to fade into crimson darkness. Helpless, unable to cry out or defend herself, the thought that this was no honorable way to die circling around in her mind as Asger’s fingers tightened around her neck. Her limbs became heavy, her body resigning to lose the fight, and a pale figure appeared somewhere in the darkness beyond the horror that Asger had become. Milena thought it must have been some Guardian come to lead her into the next realm, be it Helheim, Fólkvangr, or her beloved Asgard. 

Fire filled her lungs with the first deep breath of air that filled her aching chest when those fingers finally released her throat. The room spinning as the first hot spray of blood splashed against her skin, eyes wide as she watched the hunting knife rip deeply through the pale flesh of Asger’s neck with one skillful motion. As a Shield Maiden, she’d been taught early what death looked like, and as an advocate for her Gods and the laws of her people, she’d delivered such violence on more than one occasion. But this was a surreal horror to her, her head still reeling from the sight, clumsily falling off of the bed, coughing and sputtering to escape the gore that coated her clothes, her skin, the bedding, and floor. 

It took Milena a moment to recognize Kjaran, holding Asger on his feet by a fistful of his white blonde hair effortlessly. His face was twisted with a dark rage, such unbridled malice that it frightened her, teeth bared, eyes pale and rabid, a deep growling rumbling through Kjaran’s throat as her ex-husband struggled fruitlessly against him. The Jarl kept his hardened glare fixed on the dying man, now very weakly jerking in his grasp, unable to speak or make any noise other than the sickening rattling sound that erupted with every bit of blood that spurt from the fatal wound. In her disorientation, Milena was terrified, yet unable to look away until Asger stilled.

A dull thudding sound was telling that Kjaran had released the corpse of her Ex-Husband to the floor, and when she looked up Kjaran stared hard at her, breathing as though he'd expelled some great amount of effort. Milena wanted to say something, her lips moving with no sound other than dry croaks, and his lips parted to speak as well until the front door slammed open, allowing the chaos to continue. Suddenly her house was rather full of Shield Maidens, men, and even Zephyr was lost among the commotion. Kjaran didn't remove his eyes from hers, merely turned and dropped the knife willingly, offering his blood soaked hands in willing surrender to be bound and taken for trial. 

"I found him with his hands at her throat. He would have killed her." The statement was simple, as most things Kjaran said, but with a tone of foreboding about it that sent chills down her spine. Milena was still in shock, barely comprehending the men when they began to question her, scarcely hearing even Kjaran's calm explanation. 

"Milena, is this true?" They asked her for the third time, but she could only nod, unable to tear her tear filled eyes away from Kjaran's. It seemed to somewhat placate the men who nodded for two other men to begin lugging Asger's corpse from the house. "Take him to Sefi at once for judgment." 

The order came hushed, Milena watching Kjaran's brows furrow just slightly as he was pushed toward the door, eye contact steady, full of emotions both sorrowful and relieved. Milena was alone before she was ready to be, the house suddenly so silent and growing colder by the rapidly dying state of the fire. The Sun would rise soon, she noted, and she was ever so alone. Her throat ached from the fingers that would never touch her again, the thought pulling a sob of many emotions to violently rip through her when her knees hit the hard floor in front of the lingering lake of blood. It came hard and silent, painfully as her throat and lungs burned with each strained breath. Her vision darkened as though she might faint, unable to catch her breath or make sense of the thoughts racing through her mind. 

There was little to do in the moment other than begin the process of scrubbing the gore away, but there was just so much blood. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she worked, discarding the furs from the bed to be burned in a fire she hastily built in the yard, Asger’s clothes and belongings along with them. Sobs and feral growls burned her throat while she cleaned the stickiness from her hair and skin while the fire raged beyond the side doors to her house until all that was left of Asger had been carried away to be reduced to ash as well. Milena didn't know if she should mourn, or be angry. If she should feel anything at all knowing Sefi could have already put Kjaran to death for murder. 

Milena was unsatisfied the house was clean enough until the horizon lightened and she had no more tears to cry. The fog of trauma lifted to clarity of horrific proportions, realizations and guilt crashed down on her. She'd committed adultery. Wronged her husband and divorced him by the ruling of the very man she committed it with. To anyone else it would sound like a completely premeditated ordeal, and Milena had long since convinced herself that she was no better than Asger in that regard. Now he was dead, and the sickening notion that Kjaran could be next had her scrambling to her feet, running recklessly into the still darkened streets. 

There was no grace in the manner that she so clumsily burst into Sefi's longhouse, she was weary and weak, it took all of her effort to even stand let alone run. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and wide, darting around the room for any sign of a hasty trial. She didn't see Kjaran anywhere and panic rose as she began to call out quietly with her croaking voice in an attempt to not wake any other guest that might have stayed there, certainly not their King. 

"What chaos is happening in my town tonight that makes for such a restless sleep?" Sefi frowned, emerging through her fur draped door with care not to wake Erland. Her blue eyes were bright with lack of sleep, braids messy and draping over the white robe she wrapped herself in tightly as she dragged herself to her throne. 

"Sefi, my Chieftain, there is a crime I must admit to in light of these events." Milena fell unceremoniously to the steps by her chair, trying her best to ignore the two giant cats that surrounded her, seeking her attention. 

"Other than a Northern Jarl killing one of my Farmers? Apparently in defense of my greatest warrior and dearest friend." Sefi's amusement faded, her delicate hand reaching down to lift Milena's chin, assessing her rattled and tired state, as well as the dark bruising around her neck. "I see there's truth in that by your injuries. Are you alright?" 

"I slept with Jarl Kjaran... long before my divorce was declared and confirmed." This made Sefi sigh tiredly, her full lips turning into a softened frown, blue eyes understanding but weary. 

"Adultery with the very man who honored the separation. The man that protected you from death and delivered swift justice to your assailant." 

"It's true. I do not wish to lose Freyja's favor. I do not wish to anger the Gods, or earn your mistrust. The crime is mine and I confess to it Sefi." Milena coughed, her voice still ragged and desperate. Her eyes ached with want to cry but she had no more tears to do so. 

"Did you not hear a word I just said?" Sefi smiled in her very gentle way when Milena's bloodshot eyes met hers. Her delicate fingers toyed with one of the messy, disjointed braids still remaining in Milena's hair. She swallowed hard, painfully, and gazed back in disbelief. 

"Sefi? I don't... I don't understand. Will there be a Thing for his trial or no?" 

"Jarl Kjaran is power hungry. He came here to take my land, my seat, and my people all for a King he could topple if he wanted to. He would have enslaved or sold my women, and yet it has become quite clear to me that he arrived with different intentions, and he will leave us soon wanting only two things." 

"His freedom and his ships restored to him?" Milena's brow raised, exhaustion beginning to settle into her very bones. Weary of mind, spirit, and soul. “Please Sefi, if there is a trial, I wish to speak for him.”

"For a daughter of Freyja, your own love fortunes do need some work. Jarl Kjaran wants my marriage to our King so he has access to our harvest and our fleet. So that some of his people could live here and better serve this King. He wants better for his own kin, and your favor." Milena stared at Sefi as if she'd turned into some mythical creature, blinking in weary confusion. 

"I came to you to confess my crimes against my now departed Ex-Husband and you can only gossip about Kjaran's interests?" Sefi laughed, rather tired herself having been woken twice now with urgent news of murder and adultery. 

"Milena, pray on it. Seek Freyja's wisdom as it's clear to me she has only ever steered you down the path you were meant to find. Asger's blood was spilled in the name of your sins and his treachery. In sacrifice of a spoiled marriage, the Gods will forgive you. Your loyalty, your service to me and the wealth and prosperity gained under your leadership will spare you a trial. Sin washed away in blood. However, I must warn you of Hildr. She has stirred, and is displeased by our judgment of allowing such ordinary men into our realm, disrupting it with Asger’s murder.” 

“She will come as she warned us then. I have seen her lingering in the shadows, observing.” 

Sefi nodded, fear laced in her blue eyes, “She will come to judge him herself. As an outsider, he has murdered one of our people, coveted a wife that was not his to covet, and has seen secrets no one outside of these lands should know and exposed others to it as well. She could end us all I’m afraid, a Thing here would be useless. He will have to plead his case to her.” 

Fittingly the morning was dull and grey, fog drifting from the sea up over the shores. Milena hadn't been back to sleep, how could she when by the time she had left Sefi's house there were men already down by the shores building a great pyre meant for Asger? The only one that mourned him openly were the few women he'd entertained well enough that they felt special. Milena certainly couldn't mourn him, there weren't any tears left in her for him, yet it was no easier to see him laid out, wildflowers strewn across his neck to hide the fatal wound. Asger had always been a beautiful man before he'd grown cruel, reduced now to a beautiful corpse. 

She felt Mag lace her fingers through hers beside her, not realizing how her hands shook and she held her breath when the pyre was lit. Kjaran and his men were absent, likely with Sefi's advice as she stood nearby with Erland, blue eyes fixed on Milena instead of the smoking blaze before them. She squeezed Mag's fingers and forced herself to watch as Asger slowly became engulfed in the flame, wondering which afterlife he faced, where the thick smoke carried him forward. 

He had no family to speak for him, so they kept the ceremony short, mostly silent given the circumstances of his passing. She’d already heard some whispers of bitterness after their rather public divorce and his immediate demise, hostility toward her that she would still lay claim to the bit of land he had owned and reclaim her dowry. Despite the weight she felt, Milena did her best to keep her chin lifted and strong, not allowing the rather accurate stories of scorned lovers affect her. 

As the remaining days of the week passed more truths about the man Asger had been, came to light. The rumors that rather accurately depicted Kjaran as said scorned lover made him something of a hero, and many women began to look upon him with desire. She still felt too haunted, left with the lingering dread of Asger’s presence and shame to contend with whether he lived or not. It was too much for her to go home, so by Sefi’s mercy, she stayed in the main house, occupying her time with Atla and Ragna jewelry crafting or at the looms creating cloth and clothes. They were all gracious enough to let her cope this way, but no one was more understanding than Mag. Milena became a brute on the training grounds, teaching the ferocity of her shield to young and promising new Shield Maidens. They all gazed at her with the stars in their eyes as someone they aspired to be which only added to that weight she felt. Feeling so undeserving of their praises.

In unexpected moments, Milena felt the cold chill across her skin that only came from Hildr’s bleak stare. If she still watched them, and she knew the destructive guardian did, then she took better care to stay out of sight. When she would come was unknown, but this ancient was a harsh judge, and colder than Hela herself when it came to keeping the balance. Something Milena had always appreciated in their guardian until she met Kjaran’s wary gaze through the crowd in town while he tended to Erland and made their arrangements to go back home. Had Asger killed her, he would have died, either way, their problems would have remained between them in death, and now Kjaran would pay the price.

Death, and foreboding feelings aside, the next week began fresh for Sefi's wedding celebration to Erland. It was comical the way the two fought like wild beasts but complemented each other so perfectly. It was clear for Milena to see that King Erland had become rather quickly smitten with her Jarl, a budding romance not often seen and refreshing after the macabre events of her own previous marriage. She also lived for wedding ceremonies, the washing, the feasts, the exchange of swords -all while the men simply caused a ruckus with a sacred ceremony of their own. Mostly it was a time of fine food, and even better wine, and time with girls she had so rarely been able to enjoy in recent memory. 

"I think we'll set sail for the springs after the ceremony, and return when we have news of a child." Sefi was already bathing, speaking wistfully like a dream struck girl all over again, thinking of her life with an apparently rather romantic King. “Of course not until Luna comes home, the silly cat has been missing for a few days now. I do hope she turns up soon.” 

"Don’t wait around for that rotten feline, you might as well be an old hag for as long as you've waited for a man worthy of extending your lineage. Dare I say that Erland could not have better timing in his arrival? I thought your skin would begin to wrinkle before you found a husband." Ragna grinned and flung water toward Sefi with her rag enticing a melody of giggles. It was as though they were children all over again, dreaming of who their parents might have paired them with, only to find that their good intentions fell rather short. 

"The way you and Jǫðurr carry on, you should be set for three children by now." Sefi remarked, flinging her washrag at the dark haired Seer who still looked so young without her war paint and elaborate hair which was long, like silk with a sheen likened to her raven's wings.

"He has his ways Sefi, as do I. He pleases me though, Freyr is kind to him for certain." 

"Do you speak about anything but his... you know." Atla flushed, lowering her eyes, bathing with more modesty than the rest of them. 

"His cock?" Milena made her presence known with the rather crude interjection, making Magnhildr and Sefi both erupt with scandaled laughter. Milena just shrugged and hung her robes to join them. "He is a carpenter after all." 

"He has other qualities, sure, but I am an Elven Priestess. I need no man to do more than warm my bed, let alone a salty wanderer from the North." Ragna rolled her eyes skyward, shooting a disapproving glare her way. "No need to be a wolf's ass about it, Milena." 

"You know very well he is a rarity. King of Light Elves is not just a salty wanderer." She nudged Raga with a scandalous smile of her own. "You should take him into the forest, reclaim your lands, and make many Elven babies." 

"You're newfound maidenhood is making you too romantic." Ragna deadpanned and smacked her playfully in the arm. 

"I think it suits you." Sefi exclaimed girlishly, leaning forward against the ledge of her tub where at first glance held more hair that girl the way the length of it floated around her. "If you don't agree, then my first order of business as Queen could be to-"

"Marry Mag off to Nefir?" Milena raised her brow, blue eyes somewhat warning at her Jarl. She began to wash, noting a very quiet, very red faced, auburn haired Shield Maiden being uncharacteristically bashful. "What Mag, you two have scarcely left the other's side since that Kraken nearly killed us. He's been forging you new weapons, and rather properly trying to court you-"

"I am with child." Magnhildr bit out, turning more red still with the hurried admission that made Atla drop her soap into the tub she bathed in.

Milena felt her heart burst with happiness that coincided with gleeful giggles and jovial cheers that filled the room with such joy. She'd never seen the very tall woman appear so meek, yet so vibrant. Of course, Ragna would ruin it with her very dry advice:

"Try not to kill this one." 

They feasted that night, as Sefi would insist they would celebrate each night that week in honor of her marriage. It hadn’t quite been a week since Asger’s death, but something about taking part in the ritualistic bathing with Sefi that morning made her feel new and free. While the bride-to-be would be washing away her life of maidenhood, Milena had cleansed herself from an unblessed and troubled marriage and reclaimed her independence. She visibly exhaled some of the tension from her shoulders and poured herself a generous cup of strong mead. 

There was an overly boisterous conviviality to the hall that evening despite Hildr’s impending judgment as though the joyous occasion would keep darker intentions at bay. It took more mead than she’d normally drink to relax her, and she drank until her head became light and swimming with the warmth from the fires, the laughter and jovial conversation, and the beating of drums and song to accompany the chaos. Milena dared to glance at Kjaran over her cup, meeting his clear blue stare with purpose for the first time since she brought him home to her shores. 

Her stomach seemed to fly up into her chest, tickled by her fluttering heart when he lifted his cup to her with a devious smirk. She smiled, her cheeks becoming warmer with more than just the wine when she returned his toast and took a generous drink. Milena could not dwell on the purpose behind his lifted glass and vehement gaze, perhaps a triumph that they had survived all of their trials and were together to celebrate the joining of those that meant the most to them. 

At some point she got up to dance, grabbing Ragna to join her while she danced around their table, singing loud over the noise to honor the blooming love between Erland and Sefi. It became somewhat of a game that she would brush against Kjaran in passing while she poured ale almost gracefully as she moved around the floors and table without much care. She let her newfound freedom carry her away as she’d hold Kjaran’s eyes, always making sure that his cup was always full. 

Milena hadn't slept in her own house for a week, opting to stay in Sefi's house rather than face the empty bloodiness of her own home as immaculately clean as she’d left it, and excused herself from the great hall briefly as the celebration began to tame so the Thralls could clean the sloppy aftermath of the evening. She often walked the shores late at night, to sing, or pray, to beg forgiveness, or leave an offering. Kjaran wasn't ever far from her mind, a shameful thing Milena tried hard to ignore but without a husband to worry after, her body, her heart knew what it wanted, and it seemed to follow her toward the starlit shore.

"I don't know what to say to you. Only that I know something should be said." Her lips quirked at the deep voice behind her without turning to acknowledge him. She only gazed out toward dark waters, the Moon not quite full yet in the sky. 

"Thanks are owed on my part. It seems that you are always saving my life." Her eyes closed, his hands warm as they trailed down her arms, and she could feel the sturdiness of his chest barely brushing against her back. He wore caution unfittingly. Serious as he was, Kjaran was always certain if nothing else and it did not reflect in his touch as she'd known it to previously. Of course his hands were now a bit bloodier. Milena turned slowly in his arms and gazed up into his strikingly beautiful face. "Thank you." 

"Man, Kraken, or Draugr- I don't care about the threat. Whether I am here, or far North, the thought of you no longer breathing, or sailing waters I have sailed and gazing at the same stars... I fear no blade Milena, but that thought alone is ruination." 

Her heart clenched within her chest, and when his hand barely cupped her cheek she leaned into the touch to feel his warmth on her skin. Milena knew if her marriage didn't keep them apart, their duties would certainly separate them. Her path had been chosen, and this ache that had started in her chest sometime back at the hot springs grew to an unbearable intensity. She resigned to accept that this was her punishment. 

"You speak like a lovesick, foolish boy Kjaran." 

"If that is your judgement then I am guilty." 

"Well if it wasn't Asger, who's to say when the raids come that my life won't be forfeit then? You cannot always save me." Kjaran frowned then, his thumb brushing gently over her lower lip, in part to maybe hush her. 

"I can surrender you only in honor to Valhalla, but what's tomorrow without you?" Her brows furrowed at his hushed, almost loving tone and she placed a small kiss to the pad of his thumb. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, taking his large hand in both of hers. 

"It's not tomorrow you need to question, but the days after when you sail away from this, from me, and never look back." 

"Milena-" 

"Even if you survive Hildr’s wrath, it's for the best." She offered a weak smile and turned on her heel to go back to Sefi's house for the night. His people needed him, and Sefi needed her. Milena tried to convince herself that he might escape the full extent of Hildr’s judgment, but when that cold familiar chill crept up her spine as she entered Sefi’s house, she turned in the doorway to skim the proximity for the entity’s bleary black eyes. 

“Tyr protects him, he fears no one. Least of all you Hildr. Which is why I ask you to be kind in your judgment, he is too foolish to be afraid.” Milena whispered to the cool night, her stomach clenched as she searched the darkened street, and she told herself again that it was for the best that he went home. 

Sefi chose the day of her sword exchange carefully, the final day of their week long wedding, one Frigg’s Day where the Moon would be full and the day lined up with charms of Frigg and Freyja alike casting an air of romance to the warm Summer air. Arrangements were made for both the wedding and combining the North with their stranger, more mystical settlement by a carefully crafted contract. The plan was that King Erland’s men would sail north the following morning to retrieve some of Kjaran’s people, and some of their resources, though some would never return. Milena had to wonder when Hildr would strike, knowing it was soon as she was running out of time before he left the mists. She wondered just how far their destructive guardian would go to see him punished.

* * *

Kjaran was up before the Sun as usual, sitting on a familiar bench, staring at a darkened timber house across the path. Milena hadn't been back to that house since the night he'd plunged his knife through Asger's throat, without a second thought or lingering regret. But this morning he saw her, wrapped still in her robe and heading home to perhaps prepare herself for the ceremony that would unite their clans. The wedding was quickly planned, but not poorly executed, pieces of ceremony skipped so Sefi could claim a very specific day to wed Erland beneath the full Moon of a Summer sundown while the Sun and Moon would both hang low in the sky. A day where Freyja and Frigg walked arm in arm around them to entice the love and kinship of their people both aged and undiscovered, and as Milena drew near and the morning sun hit her cheek, Kjaran couldn't deny the potency of it. 

He stepped from the shadows, watching as she shifted her hair over a shoulder out of nervousness but still greeted him with unwavering and steady blue eyes. Breathtaking was too weak of a word for such a woman. Kjaran said no words, only gently curled his fingers around her arm and pulled her between two houses where there was a chill to the air and shadow better concealed them. Her lips parted to speak, brows knitted with confusion that he snuffed by sweeping in to kiss her. 

Half expecting a knee to the groin, he was pleased in the manner she pulled him close and parted her lips with a soft sigh into his. Kjaran grew hungry from the depth of it, tried to memorize the feel of her hair in his fingers, the scent of her skin, and taste of her lips. A cruel thing that he would leave this woman in the mere cycle of a day. It felt like his old life was a dream, but one he would wake to find very real on the other side of another week should the realms still stand after his trial. But for now, Kjaran pulled his lips from her to rest his forehead against hers. 

"Morning." He breathed, unable to catch his breath. Milena merely smirked, allowing her robe to loosen and expose more of her skin as she came up on her toes to press her lips against his again with a slight hum in her throat. That hum reverberated through his body like a shock of cold, only it hit him in his groin alright, just unpainfully and in a strange way caressing. Her eyes were worse, like hot pokers into him when she turned slowly on her heel to saunter away, leaving him left to watch her with a yearning flutter coming to life in his stomach. 

His morning was met with distraction as he dressed, but the settlement simply hummed with preparation for the final and most important day of Sefi and Erland’s wedding rites. Sefi’s requests were strange to him, traditional but timed rather specifically. It was fitting to him that as a Daughter of Freyja, Milena would perform any rites that day to bless her Jarl’s womb with fertility, though even Kjaran heard whispers among the people that she would be unfit to do so. A divorced, childless woman was often seen as unblessed. Had she not been under Sefi’s care, Milena would have no doubt been shunned already given the nature of her husband’s early demise. 

She joined the morning ceremony with perfect grace, dressed in a plain white gown, her hair simple for now, fell in long waves as a strange beast was brought to her. A sow of pure white as Kjaran had never seen, meant to be sacrificed. Perhaps it was her power over her voice as she spoke the prayers for the God’s favor and bled the great beast. As she spoke their old tongue with power in her tone, he could feel it wash over him as the gathered crowd became captivated. The breeze kicked up, thunder rumbled in the background with no apparent threat of rain, and Atla’s great dragon was heard roaring in the distance, a warning to any evil that might threaten to disrupt their offerings to the Gods. Kjaran understood rather well how, and why these lands were so protected.

Milena dipped fir branches in the beast’s blood, dousing the entranced crowd as she lifted her voice. The breeze became warmer, as though the soft caress of Frigga’s loving embrace of the offering enveloped them all. 

“ God-blithe bedfellow of Glen, steps to her divine sanctuary with brightness; then descends the good light of grey-clad moon.” He’d heard the words somewhere but it was a strange thing to quote in ceremony. 

“Milena.” He called to her as they all prepared to wash before the exchange of swords set to take place at Sundown. When she turned, she kept the same wariness about her. “That quote, why did you say it over Erland and Sefi?” 

“Because if Hildr is going to unleash her wolves upon the world Kjaran, I need the Gods to know that Sefi’s lineage is to stand. Skoll and Hati have chased the Sun” She gestured to Erland, “and Moon” She gestured to Sefi, “since the beginning of time. I was always the huntress to ensure they were never caught.”

“I’m not following.” Kjaran frowned, watching Erland and Sefi walk arm in arm to prepare for the final ceremony. They seemed so happy, the day so peaceful and full of love, as though the Gods were present with them. Perhaps they were not in love yet, but it was easy to see it in the way his King looked at the smaller moonlit Jarl. It was hard to believe now that Milena spoke of absolute destruction of all life, for all realms.

“Sefi may have honored your forgiveness, she may have judged you fairly, but there are those who disagree with that judgment. The wolves will catch up eventually.” 

“You speak as though Ragnarok… is really a person.” 

“Yes Kjaran, Ragnarok has a guardian. She is called Hildr, and she is angered by your presence here. She herself isn’t Ragnarok but it is her power alone to initiate it.” Milena nodded and began to stroll back toward the looming timber houses that despite the day began to take on a somber note as he listened to Milena speak. He might not have believed her if he hadn’t witnessed all he had in the past weeks. 

“I survived you, and after everything we’ve faced together, what makes you think I fear the end?” 

“You sailed into our waters, tread onto our land, killed one of our men. It doesn't matter the circumstances, as an outsider, you shouldn't be here.” 

“If she's a woman, the same as you, what power does she have? I have seen the waters manipulated by way of a dragon from Sefi's handmaiden, I have heard the voice of Valkyries from your own lips, seen your Seer read flames and speak to ravens that serve Odin himself, I watched your Shield Maiden and my man summon lightning to kill a Kraken…” Milena paused, turning to peer up at him. Her eyes were hard and kissed by fear, and for a fearless woman like her that was something, so he prepared to listen, and listen well.

“She is different. She cares nothing for what you have done or seen. If she must, then she would cover the world in destruction and rebuild it as she sees fit. She is Ruination and Revival, she serves one purpose and no Gods. We know nothing of her power because no one would survive to speak her tales. You, an ordinary Northman have tread into lands which hold many of Midgard's secrets... she serves no being of our realm. We all know the end will come someday, that Ragnarok will destroy us all, and it will come by Hildr’s hand.” 

“It’s been seen that she will come?” 

“Yes. If I had to guess it will be to claim those who have learned secrets they shouldn’t have learned. If we are lucky she will only place them on trial and not just end us all. None have survived her trials, but Sefi has a lineage to continue. It is my duty to see that through.” 

“Understandable. A worthy sacrifice to a Goddess of Destruction. A few lives for the sake of many. Is this land held so sacred?” He’d be a liar to say the prospect of death at the hands of this apparent being of desolation didn’t quicken his heart.

“Ragna has been with us forever. No one knows her age, no one asks. She has seen the bloodlines of my family, Magnhildr’s, and Atla’s serve and protect the long lines of Sefi’s family. Always a daughter to follow her Mother. I am responsible for ensuring that protection Kjaran. You should have listened to me and gone back while you had the chance.” He grabbed her as she turned to leave, sternly frowning down at her.

“Then I suppose I am a worthy sacrifice? Erland, Nefir, Jǫðurr, and Zephyr would all be set on this trial?” 

“If news of these lands were to reach Western worlds with their secular God and all of their finery and wealth, don’t you know what would happen to us? And not just my people here, but yours in the North, Erland’s in the South… Our people, our Gods, the creatures that keep balance among our realms… it would all be forsaken.”

“We would fight it. You have a dragon after all.” 

“Yes we would fight, and we would lose. We would all lose because she would set it all in motion… and all would cease to exist.” 

“Then so be it. I have gotten myself this far, the least I can do is barter for my life. Or finally dine with my Son again. Would you honor my death?” 

“I would mourn it, and celebrate it all the same. But know if Hildr chooses destruction, even those blessed halls of Asgard would be devoured...” Her hand grasped his forearm and squeezed gently. He could accept that fate, seek it as he sought every journey before it with the bitter taste of love in his mouth. Should he die, he would die knowing that she lifted her glass that night in his name. A worthy price if it meant that she could live.


	10. Sacrifices for Truth and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* Graphic (VERY consentual) sexual content and violence/gore/blood - read/enjoy at your own discretion! <3

There was a quiet hill overlooking the shoreline where the calming sound of waves whispered and blew refreshing breath through the grasses of the fields around them. The sky grew soft with colors of pinks and blues, and the entire colony gathered at sundown by the light of torches and tall pyres. It was a custom in Sefi’s family that she would wed by moonlight to keep Mani’s blessing over her house. White and blue flowers were cultivated for the event and spread in vast quantities over the hillside casting a dream-like quality to the fragrant moonlit night. Kjaran struggled to bask in the magic of the evening, an ominous cloud loomed over his head, bearing weight on his shoulders that Milena had assured him would grow lighter with the blessing of Erland and Sefi’s wedding. 

Kjaran walked with Erland toward the ceremony with Jǫðurr, Nefir, and Zephyr, flanked by a couple of very furry additions to their normal crew. Sefi’s cat had gone missing several days prior to their King’s arrival and after searching, found that the long haired black cat made herself at home in one of Erland’s few chests of his belongings to give birth to a singular kitten. It was a fluffy grey haired thing that made Zephyr sneeze but now sat proudly at the King’s shoulder. Erland called her Di, keeping her a secret with the claim she would be the perfect offering to Sefi as his new bride though Kjaran had to suspect it was more because he had become rather smitten himself. 

It was well worth it to watch the faces of Sefi and her gathered friends light up as Erland approached with Luna and Arti both protectively hot on his heels. Milena had been right about him feeling lighter, knowing how their Goddess of Love smiled on the occasion enough to bless them with such an offering, or perhaps it was the unbridled joy on Milena’s face as she held the kitten while they prepared to complete the ceremony, and Kjaran’s own lightened heart became burdened once more.

Sefi was a vision beside Erland, her pale hair piled and ornate with flora from her wedding crown, perfectly suiting to the white embroidered gown of the finest silk that only Ragna could have provided. It was as though she embodied the swollen full Moon above them that lit the shores almost as bright as the morning Sun. Kjaran felt saddened as he watched Milena perform their marriage rites, the exchange of swords and rings that held such profound meaning once felt empty with the knowledge that it could all end so suddenly. Or was it more precious, he wondered as he watched the joyous finale where his King swept his new bride in his arms with an affection that he’d never seen on Erland’s face before. 

He saw Milena then, her yellow gown almost the same golden tone of her hair floating on the sea breeze, serenely watching the newlyweds with a wistful sort of smile and a faraway twinkle in her kohl rimmed eyes he knew would be the beautiful shade of bluebells. Kjaran tore his eyes away to gaze up at the stars, faintly scowling because for the first time in many years he had the compulsion to engage in such a happy ceremony of his own, trade his sword in for hers and give his life to another. His stomach churned at the thought that he’d even consider abandoning the North for a woman. Questioned what decision he’d make if his future hadn’t been so decided, yet uncertain. Looking at Milena again, he wondered if she knew how free she seemed now. More alive than on their journey together, and oh so worth the conflict in his heart.

No one could tell him when this Hildr woman would come for him, only that her timing would be convenient. For her. He was supposed to set sail the following morning for the North, but now he questioned if he was merely leading his own people to the slaughter. Zephyr urged him to follow the crowd back to Sefi’s longhouse to feast, surrounding him with the comforting sounds of laughter and teasing that Nefir would soon be known as “Uncle Nefi.” He might have joined in this, but Kjaran could barely hear the blacksmith’s very crude and colorful response with his head so full of decisions that so many others were relying on him alone to make. 

Nefir wanted to stay here with Magnhildr, have his family from the North join him in this land where he felt his family could grow. Jǫðurr was set to run away with Ragna, ready to set sail so they could rediscover and reclaim the lands of Light Elves and find a peaceful resolution with the Elves of the Dark. As a Jarl to the North, Kjaran had a sworn duty to his own people, one he could not manage from this distance. Zephyr was loyal enough to join him in this of course, yet he began to suspect the Western man would have rather stayed here as well, because of Atla. He took a deep, silent breath. Was there any point to it at all now that he knew what was coming?

Ale was welcome, the celebration would go late into the night and if Kjaran was set to die the next day he was content to fill his torn heart with plenty of it. The festivities spilled out into the Moonlit night from Sefi’s great hall and into the street, and down to the beaches and docks. He’d settled himself in front of a fire, not nearly drunk enough for his liking but his stomach was full and the night more beautiful than any he could remember before. He’d been taught long ago that the night before you’re set to die usually is. The air fresher, the meat more fulfilling, the rampant beat of drums more lively, and fires all the warmer. 

At some point he met her eyes. He should have known the beautiful sound of her voice as she sang out forbidden songs of love to the night in honor of her Jarl as she danced with Atla. The primal khol she painted around her eyes brought out the color as though the girl could pierce him with them, a familiar smirk lifting the corners of her full lips. Kjaran watched her become more beautiful before his eyes, that free thing he’d never be able or willing to tame. She danced somewhat inappropriately with Atla, unaware of the way men gazed at her so longingly, and yet she managed to only lock eyes with him. 

Milena bit her lip, boring her stare into him from across the fire and untied the top of her bodice, allowing it to loosen around her chest and shoulders as she moved. She grinned then, dark and mysterious and slunk into the shadows with a girlish laugh he could scarcely hear over the beating drums.

“I think that’s your cue, Jarl.” Zephyr grinned, nudging him in the arm with a drunken chuckle as he gestured toward the direction Milena had gone. “Better go before one of these other hounds follow her.” 

Atla, rather drunk herself, fell into Zephyr’s lap with a much louder laugh before she whispered something into his ear that set his green eyes wider. Kjaran wasn’t about to linger long enough to find out what that was. He swallowed hard, issuing a glare toward Jǫðurr, Nefir, and Mag nearby who began making boyish but encouraging noises. He tried his best not to think of what was to come, but that very thing may have been what had him standing to follow her. 

Milena was already at the dock when he found her, raising an anchor on a small-sized Knarr used for light trade or transport. She’d never looked more beautiful with her long, ornate hair and wild disheveled dress, skin sheened lightly from a summer-like heat and dancing so near the fire. Kjaran was just barely able to jump aboard as the small ship left the dock and drifted slowly away from shore. 

“Running away are you?” Milena glanced back at him with a sly, almost feline smile curling at her lips, eyes glinting with mischief back at him through the darkness.

“Coming with me?” She mused, turning toward the dark waters in front of them. He stayed silent, stepping toward her as she began to sing quietly. Kjaran took the storage chest just behind her as a bench and allowed the peaceful silence of the sea, the lulling beauty of her voice bringing him the calm he needed. 

Despite the joy that lit up her face with playful and genuine smiles, no matter how much ale she drank, he could see a distance to her. Perhaps the same sort of distance that had taken him since he learned of his potential fate, with little awareness of how to stop it. Not that her life had been much cleaner with the divorce and death of Asger, they were both just lost souls at this point without much of a path to go by. It was only fitting to him that while the entire town was lit in pyres and loud with song, that he would find her on a ship at sea beneath an endless ocean of stars. 

It felt like it had been so long since he’d seen his home in the North. He scarcely could remember it. But as he watched this woman in front of him, the old settlement he grew up in no longer felt like a place he belonged. Kjaran felt appeased that he would leave Milena free of her torment, by death or distance she would be left wild, as a beauty like hers should be. 

He reached with a gentle hand to laze his fingers through her hair, running his knuckles down the length of her sleeveless arm to relish her soft pale skin. Milena just kept singing a song in celebration of love, her blue eyes lifted to the stars as though she was lost in prayer. The boat drifted far enough away from shore that the large bonfires lit on the beach looked like candles, and the drums were nothing more than faint heartbeats to the night before she seemed satisfied enough to drop anchor. 

Her voice strained around the song while she tossed the anchor over the side, trailing off and leaving silence save for the calming lap of water against the boat. Kjaran watched her quietly, chest heaving deep breaths beyond the laces of her untied dress, propping on her hands at the boats edge while she watched the stars.

“Do you think I will see you again?” He asked, standing to step toward her. Milena held him with her eyes without moving her head. Kjaran took the moment to remove his cloak, draping it over the chest he abandoned.

“I suspect there are many things that will decide that for us.” She took a breath, lowering her chin to gaze out over the dark waters. “Should you stand living on the other side of tomorrow, I suppose once you go North we may raid together. Unless they decide to send a raid West, and one East.” 

“Bigger raids though.” He added, urging her gently by the shoulders to turn and face him. He saw the angry bruising left around her delicate neck as her chin lifted to look at him. “Are you alright?” 

“My path isn’t clear anymore, like navigating water without knowing how to read the stars.” Milena chuckled softly in her throat and pressed her palms against his chest. “But I will be, and regardless of what happens, so will your people.” 

“Nefir and Jǫðurr will stay.” 

“Have you told them about Hildr?” 

“No.” He sighed, tiredly. “They should live tonight carefree, and face the dawn without fear. With any luck this being is also one with reason, and I can ensure their safety.” 

“Say you are able to somehow sway Hildr, you are still set to return North?” Kjaran felt her fingers tense at his chest, watched her pull her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“The others will return home long enough to gather their people and their belongings to navigate back here. I have a duty to my people, and my King, as Jarl.” He swallowed hard and very gently placed his palm on her neck as though he could erase the damage left behind. “Come with me. You could, you know.” 

“You know that I cannot. As I explained earlier, my purpose is to the protection of Sefi’s bloodline, the safety of this settlement… and now to Erland I suppose. Though I think I’ve failed them all when I allowed you to come here. For that I am sorry.” 

“Allow me to free you of any guilt Milena, I would rather die tomorrow than have never met you at all.” 

“Please, let’s not discuss such things as death and duty tonight. I am a free woman and I did not lure you, a free man, out here to discuss… well, I hadn’t wished to discuss anything at all.” Her fingers curled into the thin tunic he wore, pulling him into her. Kjaran went gladly, of course, their eyes locked with primal intentions like two drunkards denied ale for too long.

“So you did lure me.” He breathed as she flattened her palms on his chest slipping down to begin working on removing his belt which clattered noisily to the deck of the boat while she shifted his tunic upward to slip her free hand into his pants. “You’re right, tonight is for celebrating.” 

Milena’s eyes were darkened and dangerous, luring him further into her with wandering hands that reached to pull his lips to meet her own. Too long since he’d tasted the plush petals of her mouth, and felt the insatiable thirst of her impatient tongue as she pulled him deeper with a throaty moan. She’d buried her hand into his hair, slipping her free hand into his trousers to caress the soft flesh of his groin, fingers delicately wrapping around to stroke him. Kjaran breathed his dire moan into her, anchoring her head at the nape to kiss her more savagely, fire igniting his blood with all of his desire. 

Milena hummed an approving sound into his lips as his cock began to harden rapidly under her gentle caresses, both falling back against one of the masts until Kjaran had her back pressed against it. He sought to devour her, learn every curve and contour of her mouth and body as though he hadn’t already sampled every inch. She broke their lips, gasping for air long enough to rip the cumbersome tunic over his head and discard it to the deck at their feet, quickly making work to free him of his trousers while she gazed up at him with sooted blue eyes. 

Haphazardly, Kjaran practically ripped and tore at the laces on her bodice until he could practically rip the thing from her shoulders. Her hair and skin smelled like bonfires of cedar, adding a smoky musk to the floral oils she used for bathing, her whimpering sigh like notes of a song as he lifted her freed breasts to his mouth. He’d missed her breathy moans, the way her fingers buried into his hair and she uttered his name as his lips trailed down the defined line of her stomach. Kjaran could barely pull the dress over the wide curve of her hip without ripping the thing but it was worth it to taste more of the salt from her skin.

Free of confines, he pressed her hips against the thick beam behind her, sure to kiss each bone before he spread her and indulged himself with the sweet taste of the flesh between her thighs. Kjaran smirked despite himself when her knees buckled and she gasped out loudly without care of who might hear, not that they were close enough to shore. She’d laugh, half drunk but entirely free, her fingers buried in his hair and her hips canted and jerked against his mouth while she cursed in an old tongue and incoherently begged him for more. 

Kjaran took her back down as her thighs and body began to quiver around him and her fingers became somewhat painful in his hair. So he kissed her stomach, earning a breathless giggle before he stood to ravage her lips, barring his arms around her chilled flesh to feel all of her against him. Skin to skin, nothing mattered more than the woman in his arms and the pleasured sighs and moans she gifted him with each press of his lips or caress of his hands. She spoke with her own touches, the ways she ran her palms over his chest and stomach, her fingers gripping his lower back or his arm to pull him further into her. 

The pleasure was almost like a shock to him, her touch feather light in her errand to explore the parts of him that made him a man, boldly trailing up the shaft of him, swirling at the head and descending back to the base to caress the rest of him beneath. Kjaran growled his approval of her exploration, causing her to grin when a certain madness, a need washed over him to have her. Milena laughed as he gripped her by the ass and lifted her against the mast, eagerly wrapping her legs around his waist, arms tight around his neck, and she kissed him with all of the fervor of a deadly tempest.

“I ache Kjaran, I need you inside of me.” She half moaned, desperately gripping at him, her hips canting and rubbing against his flesh in search of relief. She gasped loudly when he leveraged their position to press the head of himself into her, her muscles tightening in his hands as Kjaran buried himself deeper until she whimpered. From here he could watch her brows knit as her body gripped his cock into her silken depths with every blissful thrust. He could press himself against her, deeply, until there wasn’t room for even the moonlight between them, only the heat their bodies created like they were alone for once in a vast sea of stars and gentle waves.

Her pleasured cries echoed across the barren fjord, fueling him harder, more savagely into her until he joined her in vocalizing his own desperate pleasure into the tender, bruised flesh of her neck. It only took her a few moments to come undone this way, her back arching into him, teeth sinking into his shoulder, and thighs quivering around him. Kjaran flexed his hips into her through her violent breaths and disjointed moans, though he was far from sated. He allowed her to breathe a bit, her sex pulsing around his cock, still pike hard inside of her. Goosebumps covered her skin, and he ran his fingers along her back as though to read them until she came down with enough sense to plant her feet back on the deck. 

Without missing a beat Milena pushed him onto a storage chest, rocking the boat dangerously as she climbed on top of him, straddling to lower herself back onto his throbbing flesh. Kjaran laced his arms around her to steady, but not restrain her as she began to ride him. He felt more like a boy, the pressure she could add this way was enough to drive him into madness, flexing his hips up to meet the fluid motions of her body with a desperation for release that came in measured moans from his own lips. She steadied herself with palms against his chest, shamelessly crying out to the stars with her head tilted back, her hair tickling his thighs while the moonlight washed over her ivory skin. Kjaran distracted himself with her offered breasts, highlighted by the pale light for him to indulge in the delicacy of the aroused pink tips.

It all began to build with the growing slickness between their hips, the way they held each other all the tighter and she writhed into him all the harder, faster, letting it build a little more until the swaying of the ship was nothing to the world around him that Milena threatened to shatter with her hips alone. She seemed lost to the pleasure, her voice taking on a different quality that had Kjaran sitting up so her pebbled chest rubbed and pressed into him, and her arms wrapped around him to better steady herself. He could meet her thrusts better this way, and as she pulled him closer, that pressure that had been naturally building in his groin began to spread to his limbs. Milena’s erotic melody steadily poured from her lips in the form of unabashed rapturous cries of pure pleasure that made his mind swim and body begin to betray his usual restraint. They began to caress him, intoxicate his mind, and rapidly build the intensity of sensations each distracted kiss and silken stroke that came with each roll of her hips. He cursed before he knew any word uttered from his lips,arms tightened around her as if he could muffle his own vocalized pleasure into her neck but it did nothing to stop Milena’s frenzy. 

She began to shake, her nails scraped his shoulders as she gasped and began to come apart a second time, her arms constricting around his neck. Her ardent moans and the powers behind them gripped and pulled him down with her until he felt her teeth biting into his neck with stifled screams. It was more than enough to destroy him completely, the moment she so violently came, holding him like he was all that could keep her together when he felt like he could burst himself. It was like all of that pressure built in his groin erupted and disbursed into his limbs with an explosive euphoria he’d never experienced before. It hit him before he could prepare for it, his hips stuttering a few final upward thrusts into her pulsing heat, his limbs shaking and clumsy. His vision went white, breathless and growling moans punctuated each intense wave of his own release inside of her. 

It was over far too quickly, of course, yet neither moved to let go of the other. Locked limbs on top of one of their larger chests meant for storage, he breathed in her skin and hair and relished the gentle rocking of the ship and the feel of her strong but lithe body in his arms. Milena kept her face buried in the crook of his neck a moment seeming to do the same, her fingers absently toying with a lock of his hair in her fingers. 

As his sanity returned, slowly, he found himself laughing heartily. Milena joined in of course, and as her arms loosened their grip on him, Kjaran fell back against the chest to greet the stars above them. “What seductive witchery was that? Certainly you don’t need your magics to please me.” 

“I’m afraid I got carried away.” She spoke shamelessly through her giggles yet even in the dark her cheeks took on a girlish flush, and Kjaran glanced up at her with a deep satisfied breath through his lips. His fingers raked through his hair to free the sweat slicked strands from his forehead, feasting his eyes on the wild sight of her on top of him, all golden hair, full breasts, and dangerous curves. “Or perhaps it is you that pleases me too well.” 

“Well, you’re very good at not speaking,” Kjaran closed his eyes, feeling her lean forward, trailing her lips up his neck and along his jaw until she kissed the corner of his mouth. “And very good at getting carried away with yourself. I rather enjoy your carelessness.” 

Milena giggled, and sat back up, peering down with mirthful eyes with her palms still planted on his chest. “We should head back.” 

“I rather like it out here.” He smirked despite himself, sitting up once more to run his hands along the curve of her back to pull her against his chest, brushing his nose with hers and gazing into her with purposeful intensity. Neither were ready to move, his desire whispering without thought from his lips and into her ear. “We could still sail away you know.” 

“Come, let’s stay at my house.” It came as a quiet reality, her eyes reminding him that trouble was likely to sail after them, no matter where they managed to go. The blissful moment had passed and grown heavy with foreboding of the morning. Nevertheless, Milena stood, making a show of herself as she began to gather her clothes in attempts to keep the mood light, and apparently keep him insatiable. She’d bend over with purpose to gather her gown, stretch her arms above her to bathe in the moonlight, offer him glances and smiles, casual touches that did nothing to sate his hunger.   
  


* * *

They dressed rather sloppily, and Kjaran pulled the anchor while she helped to guide the small boat back to shore. Milena almost swam back but knew the old man the boat belonged to would have not been too pleased about it being left out to anchor, again. The celebration had calmed some, the late hour leaving those to storytelling and brawls, leaving the night to those who hadn’t found a dark corner to savor the last hours of the day blessed by Goddesses of love, marriage, and prosperity to enjoy each other. The thought brought her back to the large hand still enveloping her own, and it had been since they docked the boat and rushed with handfuls of the clothes they hadn’t bothered to put on down darkened paths toward her house. 

Kjaran made a fire in her hearth while she silently stood in the center of the room and quietly assessed how alien it felt to be in what should have felt like home. But he was behind her before Milena could think on it too long, big strong hands running the length of her arms left bare by the dress she didn’t bother to fully lace. He was shifting her hair to the side and pressing his lips to her shoulder, her neck where the flesh was still tender from hands that wouldn’t ever touch her again as if he could remove the damage with a kiss. 

“Come back to me.” Her eyes fluttered shut at his hushed command, and she turned to face him with a shiver, hoping the room would warm soon. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to be faced with what she already knew would be reflected in his eyes, as well as the fluttering in her own stomach. 

“I’m here.” She claimed, placing her palm over the hand he cupped over her cheek. Milena thought she might get tired of his lips after so much kissing, her lips were swollen from it, but each time he claimed hers it only left her craving more. “Come to bed.” 

“You’re tired?” He smirked with knowing, and Milena unfastened his trousers in response. 

“I said nothing about sleep.” 

Sleep was sparse and riddled with beautiful dreams, yet when Milena woke to the darkened morning, the night was something of a distant but beautiful memory. She woke wrapped around him, skin to skin and warm beneath soft furs. Kjaran looked uncharacteristically boyish in slumber as she’d slept comfortably tucked under one of his arms, all tanned skin and silver hair against the dark furs that adorned her bed. A lazy, sleepy smile quirked his lips when she kissed his chest, trailing nibbles up his neck creating thrilling goosebumps over his skin.

“You are insatiable.” His morning voice was rough, but hushed and deep. Milena decided it was beautiful. 

“Good thing you are rather difficult to appease yourself.” Her own voice came out husky and quiet into his ear, a slight rumble in his throat when she nipped the lobe, and he rolled himself on top of her. Curtains of silver hid them from the world she thought, lost in the pale blue of his eyes, his larger muscled frame keeping a pleasant weight on her. “Once more.” 

“You know I must go.” Kjaran was gentle as he was always with her, unless their bed games called for otherwise. The gentle manner that he brushed her hair aside from her face and he pressed his lips to hers made her heart ache. He would meet judgment, and she may never see him again, and were that the case she would pray for it to all be forsaken and that Ragnarok would take them all. She couldn’t bear to lose him too. 

“Until the Sun rises.” Milena begged, pulling him down against her. She fought her tears and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Please.” 

She felt him sigh. Many things were likely happening that very moment. His men were already at the docks loading ships in preparation to head North to collect their people. They were probably awaiting direction from their Jarl who was absent and in her arms. Yet she also knew that he would not go to the docks, but head for the valley between the mountains where they all knew darkness waited for him. The settlement was unusually silent, unusually cold and dark for the hour before dawn where merchants, fishermen, and farmers would all set out to begin their day- but there was only an eerie silence that would call to him at Hildr’s beckoning. Yet Kjaran kissed her face and leaned into her ear to whisper. 

“Until the Sun rises.” 

Milena gave him all of her. Sore, aching, and spent as her body was, she accepted him a final time with a slow, languid passion that he returned to her just as eagerly. She could feel goodbye in it, because it didn’t matter what fate he would face that day he would never be hers by duty or death. So she watched him as he took her, memorized his face, his parted lips, and tried to imprint herself into his eyes. His calloused hands against her softer skin was heaven, each flex of muscle as they moved together and press of lips was a beautiful dream, and nothing more. They came together, clinging to each other knowing fate would wait no longer and it was the goodbye their story deserved. 

“Tyr will hear my prayers for the first time today.” She lay in bed, watching as Kjaran dressed. She was drowsy, trying to keep her eyelids open to give him her farewell as the sky only just lightened outside. 

“I suppose you never have needed to pray for bravery.” He mused, but there was nerves in it. “Sleep now Milena, I’ll be gone when you wake but if I am never able to utter the words again, know that I am in love with you. I meant it then, and I mean it more now.”

Her lips moved to respond, but sleep took her at the soft press of his lips against her temple and a solitary tear seeped onto her woven pillow. 

* * *

Kjaran watched her a moment, her eyes fluttering shut and the tear he knew was meant for him. He’d wished there was time for her to show him her farms, their trading routes, for him to raid by her side, but judgement or not, there was no time left. He almost hoped that his men would sail North without him, knowing that wouldn’t be the case at all he strapped his sword to his hip, and headed in the opposite direction toward the woods. 

There was a dark, eerie fog that had settled over the fields, and he swore there were creatures in the treeline, their gleaming eyes staring at him as he passed and yet none dared to advance upon him or make any move from their shadowy havens. It took several hours, he could have taken a horse, but thought he’d delay what was to come as long as he could and traveled on foot. So the Sun was high when he came to the pass between the mountains, a strange feeling of euphoric dread settled into his stomach and he felt closer to the Gods than he’d ever been. But there was a woman waiting for him in a clearing, strange and frightening and too silent with her long dark hair that draped the ground in pin straight curtains. Her cloak was dark, and she held a strange looking staff in her hand with a scythe like blade he’d seen used on farms to reap the crops. The thing brought him a cold pit in his stomach he’d never felt before, more fearsome than the Kraken, or Draugr, and Kjaran knew that the thing must be Ragnarok itself. Her eyes were black as the cloak she wore, or perhaps the same dark shade of violet Ragna favored, he couldn’t be certain. 

“You place much faith in Tyr to make me wait so long.” Her voice set a chill upon the air, deep and soft at once. She appeared rather young, a girl of maybe thirteen when he approached slowly. Her hand raised to stop him, punctuated by the hostile growls of rather extraordinary wolves keeping to the shadows behind her. Hildr was all shadow though, and the wolves blended with her and the darkness until Kjaran couldn’t distinguish any of them separately. The creatures were dark, with piercing eyes on him, salivating through jagged fangs in apparent hunger. One wolf was nearly as big as the trees, such a wicked and powerful entity somehow enslaved to such a younger girl. He knew all too well by now to never be fooled by appearances.

“I mean this realm no harm.” He explained, trying to keep his eyes on her and not the pairs of hungry chops behind her. “There was a time maybe I thought to raid these lands and claim them for my own, but-.” 

“Don’t take me for a fool Kjaran. Whatever your intentions may be, the knowledge you now own is yours to spread the world over. I thought you would have brought your men with you. It would have been wise to have at least brought the Elf to me so I could see for myself that the race of Light Elves is not lost to time.” 

“Jǫðurr may be the last of a race that more fittingly belongs in your lands, but he is my man first. A good man who swore his fealty to me and has provided great resources to the people I protect. I am at fault for whatever wrong doing you think has been done, but I assure you I only mean to keep this realm safe. There are things far too precious to me here, and I will gladly bear the brunt of their punishment if I must. Just know that I would lay down my life to keep your lands safe.” 

“Such promises you make, Kjaran.” She hissed knowingly, mockingly. He swallowed the dryness of his throat but held her eyes firmly when she chuckled at his apparent defiance and continued, her face shifting from malicious amusement to the coldest of glares. “It isn’t safe. Not as long as any man of the outside knows where to find this bridge between worlds. The West, East, North, and South would come here and try to claim it with their greed. A man should not have such power to raid the Nine Realms, to touch other worlds before he’s earned the right to do so by glorious death. There would be war to end all life, my hand would be forced, and Ragnarok would fall.” 

Kjaran shifted his eyes quickly as the hand that held her strange staff moved and he felt the cold trickle of sweat trail down his back. “Any man who has loyalty to his Gods would keep such knowledge sacred. Why do you think we would be so stupid as to try and harm the realms of the very Gods that bless us with wealth and good harvest?” 

“Good fortune is a petty wish when you could gain access to Asgard.” Something wicked tugged at her lips, black eyes gleaming from behind even blacker hair. Kjaran swore the wolves’ growling sounded more like a sinister chuckle. “Tell me Jarl, what wouldn’t you give to see your Son again?” 

Kjaran did his best to contain any form of reaction or hope that it could even be possible, breathed a slow breath, and clenched his jaw. How she knew about his son was unknown, but he did his best to suppress the selfish desire, the painful want of a father that had outlived his child, to embrace his only son. This was a test. “I will see my son again when I have earned the right.” 

“Such honor, such pride.” Hildr sneered and shifted forward, peering into his unwavering eyes with her beady black ones, unnerving against her deathly pallor. “Why should I trust you, Kjaran the King Killer? What exactly do these lands hold that are so precious to you? You’ve stormed enough shores and shed enough blood to satisfy a river, betrayed your King to satisfy your own, and now you’ve killed one of our farmers. So tell me how I’m supposed to just let you leave?”

“My violence has always been for my people, and I killed that farmer because I found him in the act of murdering one of your Shie-”

“Milena.” Kjaran stumbled over her interruption, just the sound of her name spoken by this deadly entity seized his heart. The ominous way she said it, the heavy rank breath of the wolves panting their hunger to the chilled air almost threw him off guard, but he kept his focus. 

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, taking care not to waver from Hildr’s accusing stare. “He would have been put to death for killing her anyway, the judgment of sparing one of your blessed seemed like the right course of action if the farmer would die anyway.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “You are a lawful man, you should understand my position. I take offense to your closed mind and heart, and you dare to stand before me hiding your truths and intentions. I was told you were a brave man, not a stupid one.” 

“My word has never been less than a blood oath.” 

“Your words are silence here. Heart and mind are the languages we speak, and if you offer a blood oath you won’t be walking away.” Her eyes became deadly, hungry as the wolves drooling behind her, whimpering with impatience. His stomach became tensed and heavy, his eyes flickering to her hand as she shifted her weapon. “I ask you again Jarl, what is so precious to you here that I should trust you to keep our lands sacred?”

He could not open his heart and mind to this being or she might see the journey of both. How brutal he’d been raised to be, how marriage to a cruel woman made him cold, and how all that changed the day his son had been born. Hildr wouldn’t see anything but a man’s heart, flawed and scarred by the heartache and yearning of a man that had the world and lost it all. She would see this path he found to Milena, the only woman he’d ever known to fuel him with such purpose despite their rough introduction, it was as though everything had fallen into place. But this entity, this dark thing in front of him would merely see the wrongdoings that occurred along the way. The adultery, the convenience of her divorce and Asger’s sudden death might land Milena judged as well. 

“It is as I said, my life’s purpose has always been my people. Surely you know King Erland married Jarl Sefi just last moonrise, an agreement to help my people. If the price is that I must leave alone, my men would stay within your protection if you will it. They will stay here under Erland’s command and never leave this isle.” Kjaran fought to keep his heart, his breathing even and steady, but the wolves loomed in closer, sniffing as if they caught the scent of something delicious. Come what may, if it was the last thing he’d ever do, he’d protect her and carry his love for Milena into whatever afterlife awaited. She would protect Erland, and his men would care for the North, but most importantly they would all live.

“I am aware. Sefi never was one to abide by the laws as closely as her mother had, she’s as reckless as her father.” Hildr frowned and gestured with her staff. “As stoic as you appear to be, you’re even more reckless than she is to stand before me and claim innocence without proof of it. You sought us out with blood in your heart and speak to me of harmony between our clans when I cannot judge which is true.” Her black eyes gleamed with frustration and fury, the wolves sharing in her agitation with hungry snarls and snapping jaws. 

“Surely you are a reasonable being. Had I come here with intentions to harm anyone I would already be dining with my son and my ancestors beyond those mountains with the fury of your blessed Shield Maidens, or the Kraken and Elves we’ve encountered. My truths have been spoken.” 

A calm settled over Kjaran, though his insistence only angered Hildr further. He’d made peace with his fate two years ago with the death of his son, and he finally felt ready for it knowing he’d set Erland up for a life worth living. Brief as it was, rare as it was, Kjaran himself had now tasted what it meant to love someone without condition, duty, or reciprocation. If his death could protect her, then his life’s purpose would be fulfilled. 

“Fine. While your heart is veiled I’m not certain of your true intentions, but I can feel something potent in it. I’ll give you a chance. Fight to the death, or win the right to walk away.” There was a growl to her voice and Kjaran thought the end might come. He tensed, and Hildr moved the weapon again letting one of the wolves free of some dark, invisible force that held it back. “Garm, you may feast, go forth and learn what deception and trickery this man has brought us.” 

Kjaran had just barely unsheathed his sword when the wolf lunged, falling hard to the ground with the beast on top of him. A sharp, high pitched cry pierced his ears as the wolf clamped it’s jaws down on the blade of his sword that he’d used to block the thing’s powerful jaws. Rearing back in pain, the wolf Garm allowed Kjaran to stumble to his feet, trying to calculate the animal’s next attack, He refused to go down without a fight worthy of seeing his son again. Given the beast’s size, he’d be overpowered rather easily and felt assured that Erland and Milena would lift their cups in his name that night beside their friends, and that the blessed Shield Maiden would protect his King. Garm bared his inhumanly large teeth and lunged at him again. 

He kicked the wolf in the ribs, swung his sword to seek whatever blood he could spill, pulling his knife with his free hand to try and slash at the beast’s throat to no avail. Fighting an animal was always more dangerous than fighting a man. Animals were built on instinct and survival, built to hunt and kill without remorse where men had to be taught such instincts, learn to craft their weapons while creatures such as wolves could rely on their teeth. Avoiding such teeth was difficult, and Kjaran began to wear down quickly, scratched and bruised from the sharp nails of aggressive, the beast’s heavy weight. Even when he cut into the wolf’s flesh, it cried out but would not relent its attack.

His muscles and lungs burned, revolting with each movement, each bite or lunge from the beast too close of a call, and he wished he had thought to bring a shield. Teeth sunk deep into his side, jaws locking into his flesh and Kjaran growled his scream through his own clenched teeth, managing to lose his knife in the wolf’s eye. At least Garm released him, though he was left bleeding and disoriented, fighting the ability to remain on his feet. Fool's luck would run out eventually, and as the fields around him began to spin, he fell to the ground and the beast grabbed hard with sharp teeth and locked its jaw to the arm that held his sword. Kjaran screamed, feeling the blood simply pour down his arm and the bones begin to splinter. He stared defiantly into the beast's eyes and roared in pain mostly, punching with his good hand and kicking at the beast the best he could. The pain was great however, and Kjaran felt the edges of his vision begin to darken. 

He didn’t hear the footfalls of horses, the sounds of yelling and pleading, a great commotion in the background. Blood pooled on the ground, the beast drooled with it, and when one of his bones snapped he screamed louder and began to pray for death, tried around the delusion of blood loss to think of Milena’s face, hoping that whatever Valkyrie might lure him to Valhalla might sing to him with her voice.

* * *

Milena’s knees nearly gave when she jumped from her horse before it had stopped, Erland and Sefi both flanked her but she wouldn’t listen to reason anymore, she couldn’t. She’d woken in her bed alone, met with such beautiful memories, and then terror that she would never see him again. Never be able to gaze into the pale stormy blue of his eyes, kiss his lips, or even argue with him over raiding supplies. She remembered what Kjaran had said to her after the Draugr attack about regrets, and scrambled out of her house in a panic. 

She couldn’t allow it, couldn’t deny it, and if nothing else, she needed him to know. Sefi told her not to stand in Hildr’s way for fear the girl would simply motion with her scythe and all would end. It would be that easy for an ancient thing like her. So Milena stole one of Sefi’s horses, and she and Erland took to chasing her across the countryside- all other movement at the docks halting with news that Kjaran would likely die. 

One of Hildr’s cursed wolves had him, blood pooling in the grass and soaking through Kjaran’s clothes. His arm scarcely hung from his shoulder, dangling unnaturally at this point in the creature’s jaws but she raced toward it, no fear as she had prayed the entire way there. Sefi screamed out to her, Erland fit to be tied himself at the sight of his best man facing such gruesome death at the hands of such a strange and horrible beast. Milena had to fight the tears from obscuring her vision as she ran harder, heart pounding and throat tensed with the want to simply scream, so she focused on the echoing thuds of her footfalls that carried her forward without a thought. 

Milena released a horrid sound from her throat, the kind so high in pitch that it affects canine creatures in manners it might not affect a normal person. Garm, the giant wolf, released Kjaran’s arm and reared back like it might attack her, but Milena had her shield and sword in hand, ready to die if she needed to. The amount of blood seeping into the ground, still drooling between the monster’s teeth told her she might already be too late to save him, she would not let him go alone. Not before he knew.  
  


“Garm!” Hildr released a short command, and the beast grew angrier, ready to attack Milena in order to finish its master’s command to kill Kjaran. It lunged, and she bashed the thing hard where his knife still protruded from its eye socket, and when Garm turned his head to attack her, she rolled beneath its belly, plunging her sword into the soft flesh to spill the wolf’s entrails to the grass below. Sefi was calling out, Hildr enraged at the loss of one of her beasts which screamed horribly, but Milena didn’t care. It staggered a few moments toward Hildr before falling limp into the grass with a muffled thud behind her while she quickly dropped her weapons, and knelt beside the fallen silver haired man. “Milena what foolishness is this!?”

“Hildr please, forgive their trespass here, I tried to stop her.” Sefi pleaded in the background, “Kjaran is Erland’s man. Arrangements were being made-” 

“SILENCE” Hildr barked, and stepped forward to stand between them. Milena cradled Kjaran’s head, she couldn’t stop her tears when she noticed the erratic and shallow, heavy breaths he took. But his eyes were open and he tried to speak but couldn’t. “No one consulted me on the integration of outsiders. Hundreds of years your family has protected these lands Sefi and YOU are foolish enough to allow it.” 

“I love him!” Milena screamed, interrupting Hildr’s exchange with Sefi, silencing the lot of them. Like it would matter to a being like Hildr who serves no one and holds complete destruction in her palm like Milena wielded a sword and shield. There was usually no reasoning with her, the very few outsiders that had ever set foot in their lands were likely the last meal her wolves had to enjoy. “Our paths crossed because the Gods willed it.” She stroked his silver hair, and prayed, prayed he would not hear the Valkyrie’s song. “I prayed for a path and he was it. HE brought us the last of the Light Elves, he brought us this remarkable King so fittingly blessed by our AllFather that Asgard smiled on their union only just last night.” 

Erland kneeled beside her, gauging the injuries with calculating blue eyes.“I can help him.” 

All eyes turned to the dark King, and Milena sniffled, begging with blue eyes for whatever miracle he might have brought. 

“Please, King Erland… I was such a foolish girl. I always have been, but never so blind. I prayed for him and I didn’t see…” She sniffled, not tearing her eyes from Kjaran’s paling face.

“What makes you think I’ll allow it. Milena isn’t impervious to my punishments. The whole LOT of you should…. “ Hildr was clearly ready to release the end. Ragnarok held with white knuckles in her fist but her dark eyes were locked on Erland and Kjaran, and widened in shock. 

His hands coated in blood as Erland pressed his palms into the wounds, caressed the damage gently where jagged flesh and muscle hung from brittle and broken bones. There appeared to be reconstruction, healing, and as Kjaran tensed in her lap, groaning with awful pain. Blue and violet flowers began to spring in the grasses surrounding them, spreading slowly over the valley as warmth and golden light emanated around them. Milena was dumbstruck, as was Sefi who placed a hand on her shoulder to watch the strange display. Erland held the magic of the Gods in his palm, as Hildr carried death, and his magic was a brilliant gold like the Sun. The King’s brows furrowed, blue eyes fixed on the dying man in front of him, mouth hard and concentrated. 

Kjaran’s chest rose with a stronger, easier breath. He was not conscious but she watched his jaw clench from the pain and sweat permeate his brow. Erland kept one hand on his side where the fatal damage had occurred, the other on his mangled arm, eyes finally closing to concentrate. It became clear to Milena then how much the Northern Jarl must have meant to their King, some bond that added to the desperation with which Erland tried to save him. She tore her eyes away, fixing her hostility on a very surprised Hildr.

“You doubt this now? That this path was chosen for us? You may serve no God but you are obligated to obey their will. Freyja has spoken when she sent me on this path to him. That more of our secrets would be revealed and our empires would grow strong and worthy of Valhalla’s Halls. Kjaran has saved my life in more ways than even he knows.” Her face crumpled and she sobbed, pressing her palms on his head, stroking his hair in hopes to relieve him of some of his pain as he writhed in her lap. “I love this man, and though he is not blessed and meant to be mine, he is meant to LIVE, and live well Hildr. Call off your damned wolves, Ragnarok is NOT this day.” 

Milena spoke with such conviction, even Hildr was stunned and fascinated as Erland, an outsider, nearly blinded them and filled the valley with flora. She hardly noticed it herself, could scarcely register that Sefi was speaking with Hildr, perhaps better explaining the whole thing. Milena rested Kjaran’s head in her lap and bent to kiss his forehead though he’d long lost consciousness from the pain. 

“It appears I am selfish too.” She whispered, perhaps Erland could hear her but she didn’t care. “I could not allow you to see Valhalla before me. Not before you knew how I felt…. That love has long been more than a thought or sin. I just couldn't let you go.” 

“Love is never a sin…” Kjaran’s lips barely moved, his blue eyes fluttering open only briefly to look at her, and it was more a breath than anything before he was out again. Thankfully still breathing. 

“This is why he’s protected you… placed you for his King and fought for you to keep it.” Milena gazed up at Erland who stared down at Kjaran with knitted brows before addressing her with an intensely blue stare. 

“Long ago...Kjaran was a cruel, brutal man. He raided my shores, taking all he could alongside his wife and an even more brutal King. He became injured in the process and almost died. The King was ready to deliver him to death in a moment of betrayal since he coveted Kjaran’s wife and wanted her for his own. When they left him to die, I healed him and he asked for my forgiveness and offered me the throne. I didn’t want it, and yet shortly after, the King was killed when Kjaran challenged him. I’ve never known a man as strong and foolish as he was. He could have been a King, but he barely wanted to be a Jarl.” 

“Touching.” Hildr had stepped beside them, Sefi of course by this point had her arm around the girl with a serene sort of smile on her face having talked through the situation. The dark entity sighed in defeat, gesturing toward her fallen animal behind them. “Well you’ve killed one of my wolves for my error so I suppose we still stand on balanced ground.” 

“We shall forgive your mistakes if you feast with us tonight.” Sefi insisted, pushing the hand that held the world-ending weapon away from her slowly, “Of course you must leave your weapon elsewhere…” 

“Maybe someday, I am tasked with maintaining the balance between your Gods and Man. Ensuring these lands remain hidden while the keeper guards the portal and the giant who moves mountains keeps company with water nymphs who takes care of the land and waterways. I am neutral to all of it, so I can make that choice the day it comes when the realms fall to ruin”

“Well it isn’t today, so you should dine with us.” Sefi insisted again the way that she did and an almost amused expression flickered across Hildr’s stony face. 

“Yes well, I was also tasked with making sure a certain bloodline isn’t foolish enough to reveal herself. The wolves can only chase the Sun and Moon for so long before they grow weary and I’d rather it not be under your rule Sefi. How can I be assured that this Jarl’s men won’t speak?” 

“He is a good man. The Northerners are loyal to him, and I will have him sail an unfamiliar course with many stops. I’ll send him on raids now- just allow us to prove ourselves.” Milena noted how Erland kept a hand on Kjaran as though he were monitoring him. “He will be very weak, I cannot erase all of the damage but he will be able to sail with the help of his men.” 

“We will see. It is your decision when Ragnarok comes if you wish to test me.” Hildr frowned, casting a side glance at her fallen wolf before she slowly turned and walked back toward the shadows of the trees where she seemed to blend in, and disappear. 

“Help me get him on my horse. He won’t be fit to sail anywhere until at least tomorrow.” Erland’s eyes lingered where Hildr had vanished, and Milena did her best with Sefi and Erland’s help to drape Kjaran carefully over the King’s horse.

“Go on ahead Erland, I’d like to speak with Milena a moment.” Sefi placed a gentle hand on Erland’s leg as he mounted his horse. Milena noted the sweet gaze they gave each other. It hadn’t been long since they met, and apparently their consummation went rather well by the pink tint that flushed her Jarl’s cheeks. Erland gave a nod, and very carefully began to ride with Kjaran behind him, draped unconscious across his back.

“You’re a stupid, foolish girl Milena.” Sefi was frowning, and her stomach felt like a rock had fallen into it. Disappointing her dearest friend, her Jarl, her world it seemed sometimes, was never something she strived to do. 

“I know.” Milena responded quietly, meekly glancing down at the bloodsoaked ground, realizing she was quite covered in gore herself. “I have been a fool but I am not sorry for saving him.”

“No. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have known that Erland belongs here. We wouldn’t have known just how blessed my union with him is, and you wouldn’t have ever told him how you feel.” Sefi embraced her then, uncaring about the blood that would transfer to her pale gown and when she pulled back, she was smiling. “I only wish you hadn’t risked the end of times to tell him.” 

“I am sorry for my recklessness.” Milena frowned, tears welling in her eyes. “I wish he would stay… but his people need him, and it seems we need him on the outside now to protect us as well.” 

“Be sure to tell him again before he goes.” Sefi kissed her cheek, “Let’s go, you should bathe and I will give the news to his men. Then you may check on him and say your goodbyes.” 

Milena nodded, turning rigidly to mount her horse. She gazed off to the horizon, seeing the sparkling sea in the distance that would take him from her. But Kjaran was alive thanks to her, it was enough to swell her heart to the point of breaking. 


	11. The Path to Valhalla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ART REVEAL DAY!!!! I hope you enjoy this chapter :) It's long, and in my mind very very important (not just because the most beautiful art is below) but we're wrapping up a journey on sooooo many levels! <3 No warnings to be had <3

The day was half spent by the time Milena returned home. She paused in the doorway to her empty house as though it belonged to someone else, skimming the modest interior with her eyes for a long moment before she entered to begin filling her tub for a bath. Her clothes peeled away in stiff bloodied layers, and for the first time in her life Milena realized she was completely alone. She soaked in a tub of oils and herbs, watching the shadows, slight and warm, trail across her floors through cracks in the timber walls while the water turned colder. Her muscles were still wavering with nerves, mind racing with all that had happened in a matter of a few weeks since she returned home from such a strange journey.

The house seemed less tainted now that it held beautiful memories of the previous night. Carnal embraces and hushed conversation over games of cards and stolen kisses. They’d traded raiding stories, and begun to indulge each other with tales of their ancestors. Milena tried not to think that he told her these things because there were so few people left to share them once his judgment was delivered. She learned that Kjaran was unkind once. A brutal man when the occasion called for it, and while his enemies feared him, those closest to him received the fiercest of protection. He was powerful and just, loyal and balanced, always knowing his own strength. It was hard for her to see him as someone so unfeeling and cruel, when to her Kjaran was gentle and loving, a touch only extended to those closest to him. 

Milena frowned, scrubbing at her skin and hair, turning the bathwater a russet brown color. She wondered when she’d allowed herself to love him. It happened naturally and without her permission perhaps when he’d kissed her so recklessly after slaying the putrid Draugr. It wasn’t anything like her introduction to Asger, their parents so assuring that love was something learned in time and made stronger that way. She always thought she had loved Asger once, but now that she knew with every cell in her body how it felt to know the mighty passion so certainly. It was clear she’d never truly loved anyone before Kjaran, a lesson to remind her that marriage was a thing of politics and not emotion. Fitting somehow that it would be so short-lived, since their love wasn’t meant to be. 

She dried off and dressed in silence, beginning to adjust things around the home that were left in disarray since Asger lived, and haunted her life. Pots and pans long left unused, his old hunting knife and fishing gear he never used, only keeping the useful things while she’d long since burned the rest. The floor would need to be swept and her sword polished and re-hung above the door parallel to the frame now that there was no sword to cross hers in marriage. Things Milena made a note to do once her life regained some sort of normalcy, things she could distract herself in the long journey to make peace with the way things had landed. 

The town was buzzing with news and rumors when Milena finally made her way toward Sefi’s longhouse. Her neighbor, a feisty old man, was already at the drinking house telling his own fiery rendition of Kjaran’s judgment and how he was touched by Odin through their King. She might have had a mind to laugh if she weren’t so determined to find Erland, and see to her wounded Northman. It was nothing new that people whispered about her in passing, Milena ignored it like she always did, only this time without guilt. Even Nefir and Zephyr, who had helped Erland carry a half dead Kjaran into Sefi’s, house tried to demand answers from her, which she gave in the form of a hostile glare as she pushed her way forcefully through the crowded square and into Sefi’s home. 

Erland sat with him in her old room, his hands placed on Kjaran’s skin where she’d been certain the damage was irreparable, but he looked solid if not a few shades paler than his normal deep tan. The flesh was still angry looking and red, sheened with sweat and caked with blood. The bed was almost comically too small for the Jarl’s large frame, his silver hair falling across the pillows, bloodstained and stark, brows furrowed and his mouth tensed with pain that in his unconscious state, Milena hoped he didn’t feel. 

“He will pull through?” She inquired quietly from the door, Erland hardly looking up from his task to acknowledge her, but his lips curled in a tired but knowing smile down at his fallen comrade. 

“Kjaran is a stubborn bastard when he has something to live for. It’s not the idiot’s first brush with death, nor will it be his last. He will pull through just fine.” Erland’s cobalt eyes finally shifted to her from under carelessly mussed hair of glossy onyx, standing to brush his hands down his rich blue tunic to straighten the thing, and met her at the door. He bent to kiss Milena’s forehead, cheeks dimpled with an understanding smile. “I will leave you to him. If you’d like to clean him up, there is a rag and basin of warm water. Just keep a gentle touch, his flesh is damaged still and I was only able to set and fuse the broken bones so they will be fragile until he can properly heal. Any touch will be noticeable to him, he is still in great pain.” 

“Thank you my King. My shield is yours should you ever need it.” She tried to keep the emotion from her voice, not that her feelings for Kjaran were any secret to Erland, and he placed a hand on her shoulder in understanding. 

“I know that will reassure him. Know that my power is yours should you need it, and as you protect me I will protect you. A husband protects his wife, his children… well this settlement is my house now and so Sefi and I will protect it together. And I hope you will be family to our children.” 

Sadness touched her eyes, she knew. Milena had thought of nothing else but children for six years. Felt a brief sense of freedom from it, before it turned into longing again when she saw Sefi’s warm hearth, the rapid happiness this powerful King brought to her. They would have strong children, a daughter more than likely as was notable in Sefi’s lineage. Always a daughter. A joy Milena wanted once, only a house full of rampant boys who would grow strong as giants.

“Zephir and Nefir deserve answers to why he was delivered in such a state. I’m afraid I was unable to properly tell them what happened.” 

“They know about my gifts as well, a secret among the four of them. Given the circumstances, it might be best coming from me since they have sworn their lives for mine. I will gladly tell them, and ease their minds that the danger has passed.” Kjaran stirred then, and Erland quietly saw himself out with a lingering glance. 

“Milena…” She rushed to his side, taking a seat on the stool Erland occupied previously. He looked pained still, yet the corner of his lips quirked, split by some hard contact during the encounter. Vicious scars marked his arm where the beast had nearly ripped it off, his chest and side also angry with faded wounds that as Erland pointed out would be painful and tender. 

“I couldn’t let you die.” Tears fell from her eyes before she meant for them to, her heart swollen with emotion that overflowed and poured through the broken cracks. He couldn’t move but his eyes softened and Milena had to place a hand on his before he could reach to touch her. “Try not to move… “ 

“You said that you loved me.” Kjaran whispered hoarsely, eyes brimming with emotion themselves searched hers for truth. 

“Foolish Jarl…” She sobbed then, bending to bury her face into his shoulder. “You heard it all, didn’t you?” 

“I heard the important parts.” His head turned slowly, a pained sound in his throat as no doubt his every muscle was sore after being tossed about like a rag doll, and he kissed her head. 

“Here, let me wash you.” Milena placed the softest of kisses on his bruised lips and turned to wring the excess water out of the rag in the basin. 

“I would enjoy this a bit too much if my injuries weren’t so severe.” 

“You’re as insatiable as you are foolish. Last night wasn’t sufficient?” Her brow raised as she so gently began to clean the blood from his nearly mangled arm. 

“A lifetime of you wouldn’t be sufficient, but I am grateful for the time we’ve had. I will live to raid by your side one day at least, we will be unstoppable if we combine our fleets.” Milena smiled, and pressed her finger to his lips to quiet him. He winced, and pleaded with his eyes as she ran the dampened rag over his chest to continue cleaning him. 

“You mean them, but you still say such foolish words.” She commented with a certain calm, both exchanging amused glances. “We will see what our King and Queen ask of us, we may cover more ground running two raids at once. More wares for trade, more treasure,” She sighed tiredly, not looking into his own weary face. “We will have to see what lies ahead of us.” 

The next morning, Kjaran could barely stand and walk, his arm stiff and useless though, of course, he still managed to join them in the main hall for a meal before they would leave, despite his clearly intense level of pain. There was great amusement from his men when he tried to eat his porridge with berries and honey, a sweet treat Milena learned over the weeks at sea was his favorite, with his non-dominant hand. 

“Only you would be idiot enough to leave your bed after nearly dying the day prior.” Erland fussed, and Kjaran met his concern with an irritated affection Milena had become accustomed to after his injuries during the Elven attack. “Your bones could snap with the wrong movement and I won’t be there to ensure that you heal properly.” 

“I suppose it would then be my problem to manage.” He grumped before his features pinched in pain and his eyes softened a bit, shifting away from Erland and into his bowl. “I will take caution. Zephyr has had some experience treating injuries. He will look after me.” 

“I’ll second Erland's concern. Don’t do anything stupid.” Milena scolded, winking when Kjaran looked up at her sharply. She smiled, sharing a look of longing with him for a brief moment without much care for who saw. “I’m counting on you for a strong raid next Summer. They’ll be weak with our distractions this year.” 

“I will return fair Ragna!” Jǫðurr lamented with foolish dramatics beside the raven haired Seer who only rolled her eyes to the ceiling and kept eating.

“I will send Ravens to peck out your eyes so you cannot make your way back if you don’t stop your idiocy.” She said this, but leaned against his shoulder all the same. Milena noted the pink shade of her cheeks and couldn’t help but smile. Kjaran caught her eye once more, and he raised his horn to her with his good hand and took a long drink of buttermilk. 

“It is bittersweet that we will leave and only some will return.” Nefir remarked, his arm draped over Mag’s shoulder. “I suppose even Jǫðurr will even leave here when he does return.” 

“Yes, and you’ll be charged with Erland’s protection. I’ll see to his affairs outside of this settlement and ensure no man charts these waters. I am a week's journey North if my presence is needed.” 

Nefir nodded affirmatively, sadness breaching his brown eyes when they shifted to look at Mag where they gave way to love. Even weakened, Kjaran managed to speak sternly enough that no one could question him if they tried. Milena admired this in him, knowing if anyone was strong enough to endure all of this it would be him. She found strength in it too, knowing that he would leave this place, and it wasn’t truly goodbye. 

Zephyr helped Kjaran to his ship, and Milena fought to keep his eyes as he sought hers. She wanted to go to him of course, to keep memorizing his face with a fear of time making her forget any one of his features. But she stood on the dock with a firm grip around Mag’s waist, resting her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. 

“It’s not goodbye Millie.” Magnhildr assured, vocalizing her assurance with a kiss to her temple. She nodded, proud she could keep her emotions in check as the fleet raised their anchors and the clear call to their rowers rang out over the calm fjord. They all stood at the docks watching the small fleet as it made its way toward the open sea, and Milena was the last to leave as everyone headed back into town to carry out their duties, lingering without taking her eyes off of Kjaran’s ship until it disappeared over the horizon. 

She would be busy, for this she was grateful. They had a few weeks to work out the new building and housing arrangements for those of the North that would be relocated to their settlement and with Summer’s arrival Milena would have a farm to tend, and a raid to manage. Those days would quickly turn into those weeks as she allowed life to regain some form of normalcy despite vast changes to her once mundane routine. She was no farmer, that had always been Asger’s only real purpose, and while the farm was small, she often relied on Magnhildr to help her. The heat of the warmer season turned into a miserable affair for Mag the more swollen with child she became, and Milena gladly picked up the slack tending to the animals and crops under her careful instruction. 

Nefir brought the first group back with him, including his beautiful daughter and aging Mother who was none too pleased about the journey. Milena was happy to see him in general of course, especially because he had experience with pregnancy where she did not, and Nefir was doting on Magnhildr, loving regardless of the insufferable bear she became. The manner in which his daughter Tora clung to the new mother was a beautiful testament to the sort of parent Mag would become, and Milena showed no shortage of pride about becoming the little girl’s idol right away.

Her heart was never fuller, yet she felt a kind of yearning she’d never experienced before. Erland and Sefi were brilliant, blessed and their bustling settlement quickly began to thrive with their new inhabitants. Milena was placed in charge of certain advancements, and setting teams up for raiding and trade which would take off in a mere few weeks. Sefi herself was thought to be with child, no doubt a result of their wedding night, holed up and cozy in her home with her King eating their entire crop of beets all on her own. The running joke was that the child would be born with pink hair and the sweet demeanor of a rabbit-like her mother if Sefi didn’t somehow tame her craving for the root. 

She wasn’t surprised to find that men from the North were all much taller, far sturdier than men that lived in her clan their whole lives. Ranks of these men offered their service to her rowdy bunch of Shield Maidens and soon the sparring grounds were full and lively, keeping Nefir rather busy at his forge. It felt good to be training again, to finally feel free and equal to these men who settled in with little to no adjustments. A few tried to court her, something Milena was neither ready to consider or prepared to act upon. She wondered in her soul if perhaps those dreams of her growing old and alone would be a reality, and had little to do with an empty cradle but the lack of else that could ever measure up to Kjaran in her heart. 

Nefir asked Mag to marry him only days after his return from the North, one particularly rowdy night in the Jarl’s Longhouse over supper that exploded with the joyful news. Sefi was of course all too ready for another week long celebration, but by this time Mag’s belly had grown round with what she was certain would be a son, and she was none too happy about the lack of wine she could consume under Atla’s expert opinion. Of course, Milena and Ragna both joked to their pregnant friends that there would be more wine for them, yet she didn’t really feel like celebrating. 

All of the arrangements for the Northerners, the preparations for the raids, the training, and now planning for a second wedding had Milena exhausted. Truly, she’d gone non-stop without rest since she first set sail to stop the Northern Jarl from raiding them. The Kraken, the Elf attack, Asger, and Hildr, all of it part of a troubled journey that tested her faith, her will, and her strength. Free as she was now, she felt strange and fatigued. Milena was wrung out and weary.

The morning of the sword exchange, she sprang awake from what felt like a fever dream. Her stomach churned some, but wiped the sweat from her brow without a beat and pushed through the discomfort that came from it. It didn’t leave, however, and she was all too grateful that they would have the ceremony by the shade of a beautiful alcove in the forest instead of the beach beneath a beating Sun. She told herself she ate too much at the previous night’s feast after Mag and Nefir’s contract was finalized by Sefi. Surely she hadn’t had too much wine, yet Milena felt fatigued and hazy, determined to power through it for the most important day of her dearest friend’s marriage rites. 

“Are you alright Milena? You’re rather pale.” It was Erland that whispered to her during the ceremony Ragna performed, and of course, this alarmed Sefi.

“I’m fine.” Milena lied, waving them both off when she felt like she might fall over, or be sick, or both. She tried to concentrate on the rites being spoken, and how beautiful Mag looked in her green gown, draped by an elegant white embroidered pinafore that added a motherly touch with her growing stomach beneath it. She seemed to glow, her cheeks softly flushed as her lips, green eyes warm and happy when she looked upon Nefir with such affection through her wild auburn curls.

“Perhaps you should head back for rest. You have been pushing yourself far too hard since my wedding, and everything with Asger and… you should just go rest.” Sefi placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, pleading with her glassy blue eyes. As sorry as she was to miss the vows and the sword exchange, the trees spun around her and Milena offered a defeated look. She must have looked so pitiful for Erland to have said something, so she very begrudgingly resigning to head back toward the longhouse to wait for the feast.

The settlement was quiet with everyone in attendance at the ceremony and Milena noted how sore and fatigued she felt as she trudged into her old room to lie down at Sefi’s house. Soft linen gathered in her arms and when she inhaled she told herself she could still smell faint traces of mint from Kjaran’s soap as he was the last person to occupy this bed. Her stomach churned, the smell of smoking meat permeated the air and she seemed to have a mixed reaction to it. She hadn’t been hungry lately, chalking it up to being so busy, so she told herself she likely just needed to eat. 

It was no better by the time the banquet was served, yet she spent half the day sleeping, and the other half pining for the roasted boar they would serve. The smell actually had stirred somewhat of an appetite, but Milena had no taste for wine, which concerned the lot of them, so she started pouring her wine into other cups and horns and filling hers with water for sipping. That seemed to help her fatigue some.

The hall roared with rowdy Northmen, all sloppy on ale and far less eloquent than Sefi’s normal celebrations but it suited Nefir and Mag’s own rather rowdy nature perfectly. Milena would normally have joined them, dancing and challenging them to drinking games that she would regret the following morning, singing and taking part in their laughter. Not that it wasn’t in her heart to do so, but the room felt too hot and something in her stomach just did not sit well so she was content to just gaze at the newly wedded couple almost longingly. Mag rested in Nefir’s lap, sipping milk while he drank ale from his horn, the two exchanging loving glances. Tora danced around them when she wasn’t weaving through the crowded hall between drunk Northmen to chase Luna and Arti. 

“Here, you really must eat something, and have some water. So much Sun has not been kind to you.” Her eyes shifted sharply as Atla sat beside her and placed a plate of the roasted pig in front of her. The sight of it, the smell of it, was enough to send Milena running from the great hall, toppling her chair to get outside where she was promptly ill. 

* * *

The first few days on their journey back had been hard. Kjaran had expected that to be the worst of it, between his injuries and breaking heart. But Erland had insisted they take a longer route, stop for trade in a few coastal settlements, throw off the trail of where they had been while Nefir and Zephyr treaded forward toward the North alone to begin arrangements. So when those days turned into weeks at sea on a ship that didn’t have her on it, he found himself further torn in two. Even Jǫðurr remained quieter than usual and while some of his men were eager to return to the North and stay there, though there were a few ready to go back. 

It was a blessing and a curse that he’d left Milena there as a free woman. She loved him as he’d long fallen in love with her, but there was an endless well of duty between them and an entire ocean to keep them apart. He wondered how long it would be before she married again, how soon before he was forgotten. The thought of her agreeing to another marriage contract and beginning her heart’s journey again was almost too much for Kjaran to stand, but like everything else, he would swallow that dreaded truth as it came. All he could hope for was to see her for the raids next Summer, and with any hope, she would be as happy and wild as he knew her to be.

A month, maybe two had passed since they arrived home and the North had grown more barren than ever, quiet and peaceful. Half of his clan were sent on raids and trade routes to distract them from the absence of the other half who boarded ships, traveling to the moonlit settlement Kjaran longed for, to plant new roots. There were still transports to be made, realignments to sort out with his blacksmith gone and soon his best boatsmith would leave as well. His home felt foreign to him. Dark, bleak, and colder than he’d become accustomed to. 

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m not. Not for long anyway.” Jǫðurr bit into a piece of fruit, eyeing Kjaran knowingly. The day had grown later, the soft blue light spilling in through the open doors of his longhouse to meet the warm glow of his fires. 

“I expect you to least of all. You found some very important ties to your past. But you know I cannot just abandon the North.” Kjaran’s voice came soft as the cold dry air, distracted as he stared distantly into the fire of his hearth.

“You’re a daft son of a cow, you know that? Being Jarl is what you are made for, sure, the same as I am meant to build ships; but I am more. I am also meant to journey into some woodlands far away with a beautiful woman to reclaim my legacy. Perhaps build a new one with said beautiful woman if she’ll have me. Which do you think is more important? Building ships as I am meant to and simply living an honorable life? What about building something far more precious, and worthy of securing your place in Valhalla?” 

“I…” Kjaran stared poleaxed at Jǫðurr who only grew more impassioned. He’d been draped sideways over a chair, now sitting straight up, leaning forward to stare at Kjaran through his wild blonde hair, gesturing with the half eaten fruit in his hand. 

“Has Tyr forsaken you? Your foolish bravery and conquests build you honor and reputation for blood, mountains of gold maybe, but it has stripped you bare as a man with no love, and no child. For too long, Tyr has beaten you stupid. It is why that damned wolf looms over your shoulder in the end. Fenrir ready to strike, to steal your hand before you are able to offer it to another.” 

“Jǫðurr **,** you insufferable ass…” Kjaran’s breath was stolen by valiant words so rarely spoken by the likes of the cheeky Elf King, but it granted him a clarity he hadn’t ever experienced. The whole time he’d been chasing a path that Balder himself couldn’t have illuminated better, and yet he hadn’t seen it.

“So what’ll it be Jarl?” Jǫðurr’s smile spread wide, chewing on his apple in wait. “She’s a Hel of a woman. She certainly needs no gold or status to keep her. A true daughter of Freyja, our mistress of Love and Prosperity.” 

Kjaran had been chasing the wrong path, and in doing so found better for his people, brought justice to a troubled man, and made a free woman of that dead man’s wife. All because of a foolish whim, a quest that happened to set it all right. He frowned and looked away, staring thoughtfully into the night beyond his doors, muttering quietly. “I think the North deserves better than reckless fools Jǫðurr. I have been one of those reckless fools for too long now. It may already be too late.” 

The Elven blonde deflated and fell back against his chair at the notion that his Jarl would remain a fixture there, cold and alone to rule his barren North. “Think hard. What is left for you here Kjaran?” 

“Harald.” He muttered the name in that same, soft, distracted manner that became irritating to Jǫðurr who rolled his eyes and stood without eliciting any form of response from Kjaran. 

“If he’ll even speak to you. When was the last time you spoke to your brother? Last I checked he refused to offer you his fealty and vowed to never see you again. He has likely fallen victim to Western ideals and forsaken our Gods just because you worship them.” 

“Family is family. He’s all I’ve got left.” 

“You’re a fool and a quitter. I know you think staying is your noble duty but it’s horseshit and I know you agree. Our fealty to you and Erland is stronger than blood. We are your brothers, and I think you know that she is your home.” The two men stared at each other for a moment, the feisty Elf rolling his eyes in defeat as he went to leave when he realized he couldn’t get a rise out of Kjaran and pointed at the frigid Jarl accusingly. “You are my Jarl, but you’re a fucking moron sometimes. The North died for you two years ago, there’s nothing left for you here.” 

Kjaran watched him leave with a tensed frown. He was right, there was no denying his restlessness, and he would find no family with his brother. He swallowed hard and allowed a single tear to trail from his pale eye that stung with the bitter truth that poured from it. Kjaran knew what he needed to do, but he hadn’t been to that place in two years, and his heart struggled to think he could withstand that kind of pain. There was no question that he was brought back to the North to face his troubled past, and what it meant he had to do. How else would he be allowed to move forward? 

Kjaran hadn’t spoken to his brother in five long years. His mind set on a decision, he left before dawn broke the next morning, bundled in wool and fur, he set out further inland on horseback with his sword at his hip and a shovel strapped in with his supplies. The tiny village nestled in plains of rolling hills, a cozy settlement outside of his own territories where it was likely he would not be well received by the people, or Harald. They gazed at him with hostility or fear, but Kjaran offered them a polite nod where he might have matched their displeasure to see him with a glare, or bored indifference before. The last time he’d been to this corner of the North was the day he killed their King. Back when this settlement was once nearly three times the size it was now before Kjaran had burned half of this tiny village to the ground. 

King  Skarð resided there and ruled their men back then. Kjaran had only just been left for dead in the Southern raids when Erland revealed himself to him as some powerful Odin-blessed being that had healed his wounds, saving his life with nothing but the palms of his hands. The two sailed back to the North together, and he’d sworn his fealty to his new King long before they had reached their destination. But he’d been furious and irrational that  King  Skarð would have the audacity to betray him after years of such ironclad loyalty, and that his wife at the time had the gall to go along with the King’s scheme. Kjaran demanded a fight to the death and won, naming Erland the rightful successor for reasons he didn’t dare reveal to anyone, though anyone was welcome to challenge his decision. 

To make an example of this King that had crossed him, Kjaran set Skarð’s longhouse on fire, letting it spread throughout the village until there wasn’t much more than ashes left. He remembered wanting to kill his wife, divorce her right then and there, but it was then that she revealed her pregnancy to him and promised that she’d been misled by  King  Skarð. All the while, the city burned and an untold number of men, women, and children died. She insisted her love had grown for Kjaran during the years that they were married, and that his power, his strength, and his wealth brought her all of the contentment of a proud wife. It did nothing to warm his glacial heart. 

Harald was  King  Skarð’s Lawman, a softer, more peaceful man that made their old King look merciful in all of his carefully planned deceptions. He was weaker in body, but like Erland, he had a pure and gentle soul that Kjaran often envied. His brother had pleaded with him that day to cease the bloodshed, questioned him about his decision to appoint a new King even knowing what Skarð had done to him. Their relationship had always been a strained one, Harald jealous that Kjaran was stronger, more brazen in his ideals, and far more successful without taking a position of power. Someone he strived and failed to be.

Erland was much like his younger brother Harald, kinder and more gentle, not as strong in body as he was in spirit. As his punishment, the new King named Kjaran Jarl of the North, and people began calling him the King Killer. The newly crowned King Erland knew he didn’t want to be in a position of power, but his leadership and brutality, his strength and willingness to act on those who had wronged him often left him in such roles against his will. It was a fair trade for his protection of the new King that neither of them would have a choice. Kjaran had realized it was his chance to redeem his murderous deeds by caring for others and ruling with a harsh but fair hand, inevitably leading him to be a widely revered Jarl with the fealty of many settlements in his legions, uncontested and feared.

Kjaran’s face fell as he came upon the familiar door of a small turf hut. He didn’t knock, just rested his forehead against the wood surface and clenched his eyes shut. Smoke drifted into the sky from the roof, so he knew someone was home. The last time he saw Harald, he tried to force him to swear fealty to Erland, to himself, and Harald refused him. Kjaran was so angry that day, even accused his brother of conspiring against him when  King  Skarð tried to have him killed. That was the day Harald was the stronger man, and told him that he had no brother if he would shed such innocent blood unlawfully, and severed the ties of their relationship. By blood or otherwise. 

With the deepest sigh he could muster, Kjaran rapped his knuckles lightly on the door and stepped back with a thundering heart. The door opened slowly after a beat, setting Kjaran’s teeth on edge when he met the familiar russet brown eyes of his brother. “You. What are you doing here? I thought I told you-” 

“Harald, please.” The gentle urgency with which he spoke was enough to halt his much shorter, younger brother who looked immediately hostile from Kjaran’s presence. After five years, his brother was older but still youthful, shorter than himself and smaller of frame, but his hair was the same sort of silvery white-blonde as Kjaran’s, worn cropped and carelessly wavy like their mother’s had been. While Harald’s eyes were the color of dried blood, and his skin paler in comparison, their features were only just similar enough to be telling. 

“Kjaran?” The door opened wider, his brother’s expression shifted to one of concern when the more rugged Northern Jarl merely stared with sorrow back at him. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

He laughed a bit in his throat, but in his shame, Kjaran couldn’t look at him. “If you would have asked me that some months ago I would have said yes. No, I am not in any trouble, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t about to ask you for a favor.” 

“I’m not interested. Your favors come with too high of a price. I told you I’m not built for blood, not the way you so carelessly shed it.” 

“The only blood I am interested in today is the blood we share as brothers. I ask, beg if I must, that you listen to me and then make your choice. I’m not the man that you remember Harald.” 

“Five years Kjaran. You did not come to me when Leif, my own nephew died because that witch you married spat on our Gods. I had to hear about it from one of our merchants who do business with your tradesmen.” 

Kjaran winced at this. It had been so long since anyone called his son by name, most people danced around it, but Harald made it real all over again. “I still mourn that day brother, I wasn’t right in my head.” 

“Damn right. I’m willing to bet you’re not right in the fucking head still.” Harald had stepped out onto the street, face shifting from anger back to concern when he saw the wounded look on the once brutal Jarl’s face. “Say your piece, but I owe you nothing. You became a Jarl, bloody and powerful. Too mighty to care for your own brother because I was never strong enough to live up to your great reputations. Because I wouldn’t swear my fealty to your false King.” 

“I have my regrets Harald, not looking after you is perhaps my first. I cannot ask you to think of me fondly as your family, with any luck I will be nothing more than an afterthought to you in merely a week. I intend to leave the North.” 

“Have you gone mad as well? I hear there are many leaving but I never thought you would abandon your own clan. You only abandon or kill what gets in your way, and there are legions who have sworn their fealty to you-” 

“I have my reasons, but I’d rather explain them on the way. Would you help me? I don’t know that I am strong enough for this task.” 

“What is it you came here after so long to ask me, and why shouldn’t I close my door in your face and curse your audacity to come here to ask me for anything?” 

“I have not been to the burial grounds since I placed Leif into the ground myself. I have a need for our grandfather’s sword, but I cannot go alone knowing that my son rests beside him.” Kjaran found his eyes stinging with restrained emotion, and he watched the war take place behind Harald’s before his brother closed the door to his home and stepped beside him on the dirt path. 

“Then we should visit them together, and you need to explain yourself. Why you’re leaving and why you’ve come to me to help retrieve our grandfather’s sword. What madness are you embarking on now?” 

Kjaran began to lead the way on foot, his heart heavy with regret and warmed all the same while he walked beside his brother. “So you knew that Brenne and I divorced.” 

“I vaguely remember hearing about it and thinking that it served you right. She ran away with  King  Skarð thinking you were dead and yet you accused me of conspiring against you.” Harald was silent a beat and his voice softened, “I hadn’t expected the price to be so great. I would have liked to meet my nephew.”

“At least he didn’t know how his mother turned her back on us.” Kjaran stared at the grass as he walked, lips quirked downward in reflection. “He was very much like you Harald, innocent and kind. He made me a better man, and while I blamed Brenne for so long, a part of me thought perhaps I earned that punishment for what I did to you.” 

“It is a strange turn of events when a man’s son sees Valhalla before him, but that is the way of things sometimes Kjaran. There’s no fault to be placed if the Gods will it, but Brenne wronged you both to break your contract out of ceremony. I hear she left you for one of the soft bellied cowards that your people raid.” 

“It’s said he has power over there, mountains of wealth. I had been planning to raid them with more force than I had before, until recently. I hoped to kill that wench and perhaps her new husband if he hasn’t burned her for a witch.” He laughed darkly in his throat. “One can only hope such justice has found her.” 

“Sounds like the Kjaran I remember.” There was distasted on Harald’s voice, and hatred in his eyes when he dared to look. Kjaran shook his head in sadness and gazed ahead where he could see the rock lined burial mounds in the distance, rolling hills of green grass and lined graves where generations of their ancestors rest. 

“It’s been two years since she left me, and Leif died of illness. I could have done it twice over, but I couldn’t. Leif wouldn’t have wanted me to.” 

“No child wants his father to harm his mother.” 

“It’s not that. You wouldn’t have wanted me to do it either, and he was so like you.” Emotion cracked his voice, and Kjaran paused beyond the entrance to the valley where they buried their dead. With a breath, he stepped forward into the open field with his younger brother trailing slowly behind, staring at him in disbelief. 

“What has happened to you, brother? I did not believe you when you said you’ve changed but…” Kjaran couldn’t hear what Harald was saying to him. He hadn’t been to this field for two years when he put his son into the grave alone and buried him, knowing the child’s mother should have at least been present. It was a brief walk through the silent field of shallow graves, covered and lined with rock to mark them, a short walk he would sadly never forget. 

Kjaran stopped in front of a very small mound, the rocks lining it making a sorrowful sight in its child-sized length. Leif had been buried beside his and Harald’s grandfather since their father either died at sea or during one of the raids. He cleared his throat to try and steady his voice, but his pale eyes were glassy when he turned to meet his brother’s eyes. “My child, buried just under this small hill, has taught me the meaning of life. Be it a loss to illness or poor fortune, nothing has sated my grief. I have raided and explored restlessly to seek any purpose, and I’ve only ever known it with that boy in my arms. Until recently.” 

A single tear fell from his eye, bringing the soot he wore further down his cheek in a strategic smear. Silence fell over the pair as Kjaran approached the small mound and dropped slowly to his knees, pressing his palms into the grass. Harald remained quiet while he spoke a prayer and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the tiny grave, inhaling the scent of dirt and grass. He remembered his dream at the hot springs, how Leif spoke to him of Freyja and confused paths, and how the meaning of it all became so clear. 

“He is with you.” Harald said quietly behind him, watching Kjaran as he pressed his lips to the dirt and sat up to look up at the midday sky, letting the gentle breeze carry his silver hair and caress his skin, inhaling the fresh air deeply. 

“He is.” He agreed, standing straight to untie the wooden spade from his back. 

“Are you going to tell me why we’re digging up grandfather’s sword? I can assume, but I have to doubt that my tyrant of a brother is doing all of this for a woman.” 

“It’s true. I went seeking adventure, danger. I don’t know, perhaps I sought Valhalla so I could see him again. I cannot tell you how close I was to doing so. Death was ever present on many occasions.” Kjaran plunged the shovel into the dirt of the mound beside his son’s, voice straining around the labor. “I met her without knowing I was searching for her. I suppose you could say she found me, and it wasn’t long after that her heart seized mine. Against all odds, I don’t want to die, and I certainly do not want to live without her.” 

“Where is she from? I can assume the South since your King resides there.” Harald rolled his eyes and slowly began to pace. 

“It is South of here, yes.” Kjaran’s lips quirked but he remained vague, and kept digging.

“Everything is South of here you twit. Is it such a secret where you’ve been?” 

He paused to take a breath, grinning while he reached to ruffle Harald’s already very messy silver hair. “Perhaps I fear the wrath of my vengeful little brother and wouldn’t want him to raid me should I leave. Such a sturdy man you’ve become.” 

He pushed Kjaran away making him nearly fall into the shallow pit forming in the grave with a barking laugh. “You sorry ass, I hope this woman realizes that it is ill behavior to fuck a goat. What makes this maiden from this unknown land so special that you would leave the North? Is she where your King resides? You’re avoiding my questions.” 

Kjaran rolled his eyes, pausing his careful digging with a knowing smirk. The truth was no longer a lie, nor did it reveal any of Hildr’s secrets. “Yes, she is with Erland. She is a Shield Maiden with beauty to rival Freyja. She has a good, kind heart though she is quick to anger and dangerous to do so. Leif spoke to me while I was away, came in a dream to let me know that I was meant to find this path to her.” 

“I think you’re madder than I thought you were. Last I saw you, you were a bloodthirsty man and you return to me a lovesick fool. Does she even return your affections?” 

“Yes.” Kjaran glanced up, grinning like the fool he was accused of being. “My boatsmith made me realize that while I was made to be a Jarl, I’m meant for more. Leif gave me a reason to be a better man, a reason to live. Milena has given that purpose back to me. Finding Valhalla means seeking more than I have spent my life seeking.” 

“Strange name for a woman, but if she is as beautiful as you say-” 

“There aren’t words for it.” 

“Fine, so you’re leaving the North for a woman.” 

“And Erland.” 

“And your King.” Harald rolled his eyes again, growing silent for a moment while Kjaran dug. “You must have given this a lot of thought. You never were a man to do anything without considering every tiny detail. ” 

Kjaran struck something in the dirt, and gestured with a hand for his brother to help him finish the dig with his hands. “I haven’t actually. I only made this decision last night, which is why I’m here.” 

“I thought you came here because you needed company to face your son’s grave.” Harald paused to stare while Kjaran dug through the loose dirt like a man on a mission. 

“While that was part of the intent,” He groaned straining as he came across the skeletal remains of their grandfather, still gripping the hilt of a fine sword. It was all caked and imbedded in the dirt that now smeared on his face and clothes, his hands working at the dead man’s grip on the hilt struggling to free the blade and not disturb his grandfather’s remains. “I want you to take my seat.” 

“What?” Harald halted all progress, eyes wide with shock. “You really have gone fucking mad.” 

“Shut up and help me.” Kjaran growled, trying to dig the sword free with his hands, trying to stay mindful of the sharp blade. Both began shifting the dirt aside, breathing hard with focus to not disturb the remains, but free the blade from its earthy grave. He chuckled a bit as he worked it free, gesturing toward the skull grinning back at them. “Old fool still getting the better of me even now.” 

“I didn’t know him.” Harald smiled, sitting back in the dirt, both looking at the exhumed grave full of trinkets and treasures that had once been invaluable to the long dead man. 

“He was old when I knew him. Meanest, fiercest man I’d ever met, and yet he always grinned with his notched teeth and tried to get a rise out of me. Seems he isn’t done yet.” 

“It is a fine sword.” 

“Yes, he always had the most elegant weapon. I remembered it well. If I’m going to exchange a blade with Milena someday, I knew it had to be worthy of a Daughter of Freyja.” Kjaran examined the intricate hilt, the fine bones, and well crafted blade. 

“Speaking of, what is this about you wanting me to take your seat? Or did I imagine that you said such foolishness?” 

Kjaran fingered the blade, still sharp, and sat back in the dirt beside his grandfather’s skull, resting a hand on the forehead in respect, pausing to offer a short prayer of thanks. “Take the North. They will need a good Jarl, a better one than myself who spent the last two years piling gold into his house with restless missions while our crops run dry.” 

“Why me? We haven’t spoken or been on good terms for many years. Maybe I don’t want it.” Kjaran gave him a look, standing to begin covering the shallow grave with the rocks and dirt he’d disturbed. 

“I lost you those years ago, I wronged you and I cannot make amends or ask you to be a family to me. The least I can do is give you power and protection. I have men in the North who would make sure your position is undisturbed and they would give their fealty without hesitation. Say you will take my seat, I never wanted to be a Jarl and you always have.”

“I wanted to be you, Kjaran.” 

“That is not something anyone should want. Be Jarl Harald of the North, and let me seek peace with the woman I love. Perhaps I do not deserve this happiness, and it is your right to chain me to my throne. You know I’d never leave the North unprotected and cared for, so I leave my future in your hands, brother.” 

“How dare you.” Harald folded his arms while Kjaran finished carefully reconstructing the grave he’d disturbed. He frowned, waiting for his brother to tell him no. “I have long heard of the man you’ve become through the mouths of others. I ignored them because it was too painful for me to know you were the man I always thought you could be. You change, and become a good and honorable man, and I’m supposed to just decide your fate?” 

“Again, you are a good lawman.” He bent to pick up the blade, removing his cloak to wrap it. “There isn’t a more fitting man to judge me. I will say, that if you take my seat it is likely you will never see me again.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’ve been called worse. You could even claim more territory. That pitiful town you call home for starters.” Kjaran joked but kept his eyes hopeful. “ Harald, we stand in this field of the dead. Men and women,” he cast a sorrowful look over his shoulder to his departed son’s resting place, “even children, who have long met our Gods. We stand to do them proud and honor their names, leave a legacy behind so that others will do the same for us. What do you say? I’ll arrange things, and be gone within the week.” 

“You are my brother Kjaran. I have hated you far longer than I ever loved you, but I will always choose your happiness because regardless of the past, we are family.” Harald embraced him then, two men holding on tightly to the other with tear-filled eyes, standing between the grave of a child and the grave of an old man while puffy white clouds drifted slowly across a blue midday sky. “I would be cruel to keep you from her. I accept your offer, and I will make you proud.” 

“Blood is always stronger than iron.” He spoke with a purpose to tame the threatening tears from all of his heartaches and regret, and now the love that filled him. Kjaran buried his face in the shorter man’s pale hair and smiled. “You always were a better man than me.”

Within a few days, Kjaran was perched on the throne in his crowded longhouse for a Thing, silently roving his eyes over his beloved men and women in the crowd that he had ruled over for many years. They feared him, they respected him, and in some strange way adored him. But they had questions about the vast quantity of families leaving their settlement without so much as a whisper about where they were going. Nefir’s absence was strongly felt as the forges remained colder than they had in decades, and as Kjaran announced his own departure and appointment of a new Jarl, he owed his people answers. 

“Under my rule, the North grows more barren. It is a testament to my heart as it bears no fruit to offer my people, left empty by years of heartache that you all have been so generous to forgive. Those who have left the North joined King Erland in the South, as is my intention. The Gods have spoken that my seat here ruins the North, and Jarl Harald will be a better man to see it prosper as it did once.” Kjaran stood, and took a step down from his throne, pulling his prized cloak of thick grey wolf fur and iron from his shoulders and draping it over the back. He admired the image a moment, one of power he was more than glad to relent to his brother. “My fealty is still to the North, and I give it to Jarl Harald.” 

“Kjaran…” His brother quietly exclaimed from the crowd near his throne, and he met his burnished brown eyes with nothing but affection. 

“Harald will be under the same protection that I extend to my King. Should anyone threaten my great Northern Jarl, I will ascend from the South with Valkyries, and legions like no one has ever faced. Am I CLEAR!?” 

His stern and impassioned proclamation earned him battle cries and triumphant sounds that thundered through the hall and warmed Kjaran’s heart. They were still loyal to him, meaning they would extend that fealty to his brother with any luck. He only hoped that even after these months away that should he need her, Milena would help him protect the North. Hel, at this point, Kjaran could only hope she would stand behind him at all. With any luck, she would stand at his side.

The following morning he woke in one of the smaller stalls of what used to be his longhouse, rolling to his back to gaze up into the rafters above. He felt lighter than he had in his entire life, a free man without lands to govern. His intention was to leave that morning, and as he entered the silent main hall he was met with Jǫðurr perched comically on the Jarl’s throne already waiting for him. 

“You thought you’d just leave and not say goodbye, didn’t you?” 

“Jǫðurr you ass, I’ll be seeing you soon enough. Can you and Zephyr handle the rest of the transports?” 

“Well… I suppose so.” He mused in that ‘what’s in it for me’ sort of fashion, standing to stretch. “I didn’t realize you’d be leaving before us.” 

“Some things cannot wait. I offered my seat and Harald took it. I don’t plan to linger and get in his way.” Kjaran paused in front of the cheeky elf, jabbing him in the chest with an authoritative finger. “And you are going to help him get settled into the North. That being said I also need a favor.” 

“I’m not going to don a pinafore and protect your little brother. And how have I become your errand boy? First with the vile Draugr head.. Then the-”

“Jǫðurr, shut up a moment.” 

“It’s because Nefi isn’t here isn’t it?” 

Kjaran sighed tiredly and raked a hand down his face, glaring down at Jǫðurr to silence him with his eyes. “No, but I will compensate you well for your efforts. I have kept most of my fortune and I owe you some form of gratitude for making me see a brighter path.”

“I didn’t intend on making you a mad man with my words.” He sneered at Kjaran’s unusually optimistic words, eyeing him warily. “ What favor do you need other than settling Harald into your throne?” 

“Well, firstly I need a Knarr and a cow. Secondly, my favor is…” He bent down slightly to whisper a thing in his ear. 

“I have indeed succeeded in creating a mad man.” Jǫðurr repeated with an exasperated groan. Kjaran offered a wide, very rare smile. 

“If all goes well you will have made me a very happy fool.” He barked a bit of laughter and smacked the shorter man’s back. “I’ve been a fool all along.” 

Jǫðurr cringed and shook his head. “That I will not dispute, but since you are no longer my Jarl I can happily tell you that you’ve been a fucking idiot.”

“Just make sure you see that Harald is received warmly, and safely. Do what I ask and I will make it worth your time Elf King.”

“That is much more to my liking.” Jǫður **r** spoke haughtily, and Kjaran walked hastily out onto the docks to find a Knarr ready for sail. “You’ll have been gone for nearly three months, maybe more by the time you return. Are you sure you won’t change your mind and stay? Zephyr will be rather lost without you.” 

“Not a chance. Just hurry back so you can complete my favor. And Zephyr may come too of course.” 

“Yes, yes, and deliver your abundant riches. Yes, I will adhere to the plan. Just tell Nefi he owes me a sword.” 

“What for?” 

“Do I need a reason for a sword? Perhaps to fight the Dwarves or Dark Elves who have stolen my lands. Perhaps I want to stick it up his ass later, who cares? Tell him to forge me a fucking sword.” 

Kjaran raised his hands in surrender and smirked. 

“Fine. I’ll tell Nefi to take the details up with you when you get your ass down there.” 

“Watch for the Kraken… or that blasted Dragon, Kjaran.” 

“That’s what the cow is for, but if I am sunk and escorted to Valhalla, you’ll tell her.” 

“YES! Now leave before I change MY mind, make you take your title back, and chain you to that throne, you ass!” 

“That throne is no longer mine to take. I’ll see you in a few weeks then.”

“Kjaran,” Jǫðurr spoke sharply, halting him as he boarded the Knarr boat, turning back toward the regal looking Elf. “The three of us have always been in agreeance that our fealty is yours. Jarl or not we would follow you into Helheim. May Freyr bestow his good fortune on your journey, and usher you home into the arms of your beloved.” 

“You have my thanks Jǫðurr.” 

“Just don’t forget about my fucking sword.” 

“Ass.” Kjaran bit with a bit of bland sarcasm, rolled his eyes and went about making sure his belongings, his fortune, and most importantly his grandfather’s sword made its way on board with him. He only took a small crew, demanded only men that had some desire to stay at the settlement accompany him. He’d been a perfect fool to let her go, and he couldn’t make the small ship sail forward fast enough.

His cantankerous demeanor and anxious impatience were at least met with humor amongst the small crew he kept but Kjaran was ready to take on the Kraken on his own if it would try to keep him from her. His path was his own, yet he least expected to find that path from the brayings of Jǫðurr’s obnoxious mouth and even more unexpected that for as not perilous as it was, he was far braver because of it. 

The journey still took a bit longer than a week, and it was the longest week of his life. Thankfully, the worst obstacles they faced were anxious men, storms, and Kjaran’s temper. Undoubtedly his fault since he refused to stop on land for rest or any form of relief until he held her in his arms. Not even when the water supply ran low and food became scarce. 

When faced with the now-familiar Joot, Kjaran didn’t bat an eye. He merely ordered his terrified crew to prepare the heifer which seemed to excite the ancient dragon whose blue eyes glowed fiercely at the sight of his treat. 

“May we pass?” He eyed the dragon who had his eyes locked onto the cow, a deep whimper growling in the creature’s throat. “Joot. Will you help us? I must get to Milena right away.” Atla’s dragon shifted his eyes upon Kjaran, pupils narrowing to slits and a hot gust of air washed over him with a stubborn huff. “Read my heart, you know why I’ve returned. Please, the heifer is yours if you get me to her quickly.” 

The following grunt was one of affirmation, so he thought, as Joot bore his serpent blue eyes into Kjaran as he did the first time he saw the creature. His pupils extended as though in excitement, and he roared out loudly causing Kjaran’s entire crew to fall to the deck of the ship in fear. One loud barking command from the former Jarl had a few of them scrambling to their feet to reward Joot with his meal. After his snack, the dragon released a strange but happy series of noises before plunging into the sea and making his triumphant swim to shift the tide, quickening their journey forward. 

Familiar shores greeted them, and yet even from a distance Kjaran could see that their settlement had become more bustling, more built up and elegant than when he had left. It was a feeling of coming home that he hadn’t felt in many, many years. He’d scarcely waited for the anchor to drop before he jumped onto the dock and took off running toward her house. Those who knew him called out to him in passing, confused by the presence of their former Jarl, or the man who had breached their shores and turned their lives upside down. He hoped they thought of him fondly now, however he was too occupied hurrying down paths between houses of timber, merchants, and children playing in the streets to properly return their greetings. Each step forward was one more down the path he’d searched for his entire life, but upon reaching a very specific house, it turned out she wasn’t home. 

Kjaran didn’t find her at the sparring grounds either, though Mag greeted him with surprise, and hugely pregnant waddled her way toward him for a warm hug and a jovial laugh. “Kjaran, when did you return? Nefir will be so happy to see you!” 

“Where is she?” He pressed in return, breathless and wild he was certain, and Mag’s surprised expression shifted to one full of amused understanding. She rested her hand on his forearm and pointed toward the path out of town toward fields and forests. 

“Gathering berries.” 

“Thank you.” Kjaran smiled, briefly kissing the woman’s forehead and placing a gentle hand on her rather largely swollen stomach before running off toward fields of fragrant wildflowers just outside the settlement’s gates. 

It was still morning, he’d sailed all night though the fatigue of it all had yet to settle into his bones and muscles that ached as he ran, silver hair billowing in the breeze, pale eyes scanning the line of the forest in search of her golden hair. 

Milena wasn’t hard to find, her vibrantly blonde hair intricately braided and adorned with white and blue flowers she’d no doubt gathered along the way. She wore his favorite blue dress and carried a basket hooked through her arm while she lazed along bushes of blackberries with Arti at her side. The giant white cat saw him first, green eyes fixed and ears perking toward him, no doubt hearing his careless shuffling through the taller grasses. 

“What’s wrong Arti?” He heard her speak softly, slowly turning to assess what distracted the mountain cat so. 

When she turned to address him she froze, blue eyes wide and more beautiful than he remembered. Milena looked absolutely radiant, perhaps a bit softer as though the essence of Freyja had filled her with more light than she had before. 

“Milena…” He breathed, taking a hesitant step forward. She promptly dropped her basket, a hand reflexively brought to her stomach.

“Kjaran how- What are you doing here?” His eyes dropped to her hand, still cradling her stomach which he knew to be taught and slim, yet there was the smallest hint of more beneath her palm that filled his eyes with hopeful tears, and sent his heart beating with deafening thunder into his ears. 

“Milena..” He said again, lifting his eyes to meet her softly smiling face. Kjaran’s knees buckled, hitting the ground hard as he fell before her. “You’re…” 

“Yes,” There were tears and a smile on her voice followed by the faintest sniffle. “I am with child.” Her fingers brushed through his hair as his forehead fell against her barely swollen stomach and tears fell free from his eyes “It is yours.” 

Kjaran wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her closer, pressing his lips against the firm but tiny bump, unable to stop the small sob that left his lips when her fingers grazed through his hair again and she held him against her as he buried his face into her stomach. 

His heart hadn’t ever been fuller, certain there was no one before her that he’d ever loved more than he loved Milena and this child growing inside of her. Their child. Kjaran became more certain his decision to return was the best he’d ever made, worth forsaking his title and lands. Surely Hildr and Erland would both understand his desire to stay. 

“How long?” Finally he lifted his face, sniffling to gaze up at her, allowing her thumbs to smear the soot when she brushed the tears from his cheeks. 

“The boat, so perhaps three, almost four months?” Chuckling, she regarded her spilled basket of berries, “I think it is a boy, though sometimes I feel a girl. Whoever they will be, all they will allow me to eat is porridge with honey and berries. Otherwise, I’m often sick.” 

“My favorite.” Kjaran grinned, standing weakly to cup her cheek. There was disbelief dancing in her tear-filled eyes, her smaller calloused hands wrapping around his larger wrists loosely. 

“What are you doing here you foolish Jarl?”

He caressed her tearstained cheek with his fingers and properly look into her intensely blue eyes. “I am no longer an Jarl, because my place is no longer in the North, and your path was never lost. All of it was a path to me, and mine to you. Be mine, and let me be yours just the same. Marry me, and let me care for our child, let me love you, and protect you both.” 

“Do you? Do you love me still?” 

“Foolish girl.” Kjaran grinned, pulling her against his chest with a hand on the small of her back for a warm, sweet kiss in response. 

“Is that a yes?” A blissful smile spread to her lips, and it was nothing to the euphoria Kjaran felt, scarcely able to keep from weeping. 

“Only if you agree to be my wife. I will love you and our child until my last breath, and give it if needed to ensure your happiness and protection.” 

“Then yes! As soon as possible yes!” Milena tackled him into the grass in a flurry of kisses. She wept openly, arms tight around his neck. They lay there in fields of blue and white flowers, Arti trying to lick the tears from her cheeks which made her giggle around happy sobs. The cat relented finally, plopping almost invasively right on their heads, the joy so apparent in the laughter between them with such love in their eyes when their giggles calmed into peaceful contentment. “I am in love with you Kjaran.’ 

“Next week then.” He whispered in return, kissing away one of the tears still lingering at her cheek. Her lips brushed against his nose before she rubbed hers with it. 

“Can we manage it that soon?” 

“I hold the world in my arms, it isn’t soon enough.” Milena bit her lip, excitement brimming in her gaze that turned teasing as she ran her fingers along the generous stubble growing along his jaw. 

“Only on the condition that you remove this scratchy, unsuiting beard.” 

Kjaran laughed at this and tried to rub his chin on her cheek playfully. “If that is the only condition, then I’m yours.” 

* * *

Sefi insisted on a proper wedding since Milena was denied attending the raids due to her condition. Kjaran seemed suspiciously complacent to wait as well, suddenly claiming Jǫðurr and Zephyr would be returning in a few weeks with his belongings and he couldn’t have his men miss the occasion.They’d have to provide the food and festivities and he claimed he would need what was left of his fortunes, and with the air of a stuffy old Northmen said they were irresponsible to hasten what only the Gods could bless. For Milena, the growing child in her womb was more than enough evidence that their union would be well received. She also wasn’t growing any smaller, and after a month she began to get impatient. 

“You’ve changed your mind now that I’ve grown round and swollen.” Milena pouted, forever cranky that Kjaran no longer allowed her to train, or fish, or really do more than just keep the house. 

“I think you know how untrue that is after this morning. If I could keep you round with my child forever I would.” Unlike herself normally, Milena flushed at the memory of waking that morning to his loving and amorous touch, and hated it at once that he could make her flush like some lovesick maiden. 

“I would see to it that you’re miserable then. If only to inflict my discomfort of swollen feet and aching back. Should I be so large? It hasn’t been very long.” Milena’s eyes widened, and she was almost ill all at once at the notion that the child might actually be Asger’s, that she was farther along than originally thought, and voiced this concern with a quivering fear to her voice, “You don’t think that it’s…” 

“Shhh…” Kjaran bent to kiss her head, kneeling in front of her to wipe away the tears that came so easily to her now, taking her chin between his fingers to make her stare into his pale blue eyes. “It is mine. My soul speaks to yours and I think even you know that it is ours. Regardless, even if there is a chance, the child will be well cared for and loved because it is part of you.” He paused to chuckle softly, “Why do you cry harder?” 

“Because I love you too much, you foolish man.” The tears wouldn’t cease, her heart was too full, so much that she felt undeserving of him. “Will the others arrive soon? I wish we could sail to meet them, I won’t fit into any dress for ceremony if they don’t hurry.” 

“We can always wait until the child is born.” Kjaran grinned, that sly way that made his eyes gleam and he took her hand in his to kiss it. 

“I knew you were in no hurry. Why would we wait? I wanted to be your wife weeks ago.” Milena was back to pouting again, hating how emotional the child made her though it seemed to entertain him immensely. The rare occasion it did seem to bother him, Kjaran would tell her that he had business with Nefir and make himself scarce. Milena eyed him suspiciously as he stood, kissing her softly on the lips before he bent to whisper huskily into her ear.

“If we wait, it means that I can put another child in you all the sooner.” It sent a shiver through her, as uncomfortable as she felt currently, he made such a compelling argument. The thought of many children filling their home which had always been too large for two, filled her with such warmth that she heard herself agreeing.

“We can wait if you like. Though you know I’m not a patient woman.” 

“I know.” Milena wondered when she’d wake up from whatever dream had found her as he kissed her head again, sword in hand. “Rest, my Songbird. Nefir, Erland, and I will hunt, and I will ask if I am to lead the final raids now that we have more men.” 

“You know I’ll only allow it if you promise not to leave us for Valhalla before you’ve met your son or daughter.” Milena peered at him in a stern manner that she’d been practicing for when she finally became a Mother. She had little else to do these days.

“Only if you promise me that you’ll behave and do as Atla says. No being foolish and doing things you shouldn’t. I’ll happily get us a Thrall, or Sefi and Erland can spare one of theirs to tend to you.” Milena’s nose scrunched in distaste, but she nodded anyway. 

“Fine. Now go on your hunt and try for rabbit. Sefi hates it when we kill the things but your child is rabid for it.” 

“Anything. Now rest, or sweep if you must do something but I will return soon. Odin willing with a rabbit or two.” Kjaran kissed his fingers in offering to her and slunk through the door. 

“Hurry!” She called out, giggling softly to herself at his chuckle heard faintly from just outside. 

It was two days before Zephyr and Jǫðurr arrived with a vengeance, sailing in a strange and massive vessel in a Western design that had her wondering how they ever managed to get it passed Joot without feeding him at least two heifers. They brought more people, tons of livestock and Northern wares. Never had Milena seen five oversized men so excited or happy to see the other. Mag stood beside her, entwining her fingers with hers out of both nerves and the rather heartwarming scene in front of them as brothers in arms reunited and embraced. Each was more excited than the other because it had been decided that the five of them would join in the raids. 

Mag was heavily pregnant and caring for Nefir’s Mother and young daughter. The time away would be hard for her, yet Milena noted how quick Jǫðurr was to lend a hand, and of course, Sefi would care for them all with her vast resources. Ragna stayed recluse, apparently angry with Jǫðurr because they wouldn’t be able to embark on their own journey into the land of Elves and Dwarves until the following Spring to reclaim their land. Jǫðurr was a fiercely loyal man, surprising to some, but he insisted that he had promises to keep and loyalties owed. In his own crude tongue:

“Let her be pissed.” 

Kjaran woke her early before they would set sail for the raids, her back pressed against his firm chest with his arm barred wrapped around her as they made love. He marked her shoulder with his teeth, whispered the sweetest of promises as he took her, and caressed her with the gentlest of hands.

“I hope to be home sooner, but if not, I will pray to be greeted with our child in your arms.” He punctuated his words in distracted kisses to her shoulder and neck as they lay in the aftermath. Milena only smiled, his large hand warm and comforting on her belly. “You will give me the most beautiful children. 

“Hurry and go so you return to me sooner. So you can make me your wife and so I may give you many more children.” Her voice still held the croak of sleep, it never had been the same since Asger nearly crushed her throat in his hands, and she had a bit more trouble using her abilities. A thing to strengthen once their child was born. 

Milena watched lazily from the bed as Kjaran dressed. He didn’t want her to see him off at the docks, wanting her last memory of him to be of this, in their home instead of sailing away on a ship. She didn’t want to either, for she felt a bit of jealousy that she couldn’t raid, but also because she knew she’d miss him all the more. She watched him braid his hair impeccably, soot his eyes to look more fearsome, and thought that he looked exactly as he had the day she came to steal his fleet. 

“Farewell, my Songbird. Take care of our nest.” 

“Hurry home, the Gods will hear many prayers from me. Be strong and brutal if needed, bring us honor and riches, but mostly bring me you.” 

Kjaran offered her a softened look, nodding and placing his hand to his heart. He paused in the door to turn back and admire her. Milena allowed him the appreciative moment to memorize her naked and pale against the darker furs of their bed. 

“Tell me. Do you feel that it’s a boy or a girl, or has it not revealed itself to you?”

Milena smiled softly and placed her hand on the rather rapidly growing bump. 

“I cannot tell. Sometimes I feel a man’s spirit, other times a woman. Perhaps it has not been decided.” Tears pricked her eyes but Milena resolved to keep her strength about her. “Just know that it is strong, and we are so very blessed.” 

She swore she saw tears glass over in his pale eyes, but he smiled rather proudly and took a final silent moment to gaze at her. Milena didn’t need to hear the words to know how he loved her, she could feel it in that quirk of his lips he rarely offered anyone else. So when he disappeared through the door without another word needed between them, Milena smiled and gathered furs in her arms to hug against her chest, feeling a tiny kick, a sweet flutter of movement inside of her, and fell back to sleep. 

The weeks went on into months and Milena insisted on helping Mag where she could. She was due any day now and Nefir’s Mother was a strong old woman but limited nonetheless. Milena taught his daughter Tora what she knew as well, so between the both of them their house would remain in order. Mag grew more and more frustrated the more helpless she became, but some days later gave birth to a very strong son with a full head of rather curly dark auburn hair. 

Naturally, as the months dragged and much against Kjaran’s wishes, Milena worked herself too hard. The simplest things grew harder and harder and though Atla was often there to help her, as well as scold her, by her eighth month she was so large she could scarcely stand, and ended up bedridden, much against her will. 

“Perhaps I am mistaken and I’m giving birth to a Kraken. It never seems to stop kicking.” She’d whine, and pout with little else to occupy her other than petting Arti who’d taken to sprawling himself across her lap, rather protective of her mountain of a belly. 

“Perhaps you should have listened and not tried to gather firewood. You could harm the child you know.” Atla scolded, adding insult to injury as she tossed a small log on the fire with ease. Her expression softened when Milena sniffled and cried harder because she was crying, which no one was ever supposed to see. “The baby is fine.” 

“No...I had just hoped he would be home by now. That he would be here before our child came.” Arti lifted his head only to rest it on top of her stomach, an almost woeful expression in his big green eyes. “Thank you Atla...I’m sorry to be such a burden.” 

“I am only glad to see that the great and mighty Shield Maiden Milena isn’t impervious to vulnerability.” She threw a berry at her friend who began to sweep her floor and tidy. Milena’s fingers itched to pitch in, if only she could stand properly without her ankles feeling as though they might give. She hadn’t been allowed to stand for much longer than a trip to the commode, and even that made her ankles swell to twice their size. 

“Well one day perhaps Zephyr will put a child in you and it will be my turn to laugh at your expense.” Atla flushed, and turned her back to Milena to hide it. She only grinned smugly and popped another berry between her lips. 

“It is strange, I feel as though I don’t know him much. I know more about his lands and certain navigation methods, their strange religion than I do about his family or interests.” 

“He is a sailor, there isn’t much more to know about a man of the West. He sails, he fucks, and he fits right in the way he enjoys gold. He has taken to our ways and proven quite loyal. I think our Gods have decided to smile upon him.” Atla seemed resolved to ignore her, continuing to sweep without contributing much to the conversation. “You should know him Atla. More than his body I mean, you cannot hide that fact from me. He is a cautious man but he is good. He is loyal.” 

“We will see what becomes of things when they return. Between the babies being born and weddings, and all that’s happened since you brought them to our shores, I prefer to wait for calmer waters to explore the recesses of my heart.” 

“Always the calculated one.” Milena spoke softly and squirmed uncomfortably under Arti’s imposingly warm weight. “I do hope Kjaran comes home soon...I feel the child may come early.” 


	12. Until the Sun Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sappiness incoming* 
> 
> AGAIN I need to thank the Mods for the Senshi & Shitennou Reverse Mini Bang for putting on this GLORIOUS event! This is such a wonderful community and I'm so so thankful that I found the wonderful, mind-blowingly talented people within it. 
> 
> Dara and Minakosaino- I ADORE YOU BOTH SO MUCH! Thank you again for supporting me with this behemoth of a story and for keeping me honest and sane during the process. I truly appreciate the soundboarding and encouragement, (the enabling was real!) I'm SO SO happy I got to work with you <3 (and now you're stuck with me because fandom friends are the best friends!)
> 
> ARTIMAS!!! Omg girl I can't quite scream enough about the artwork that I'm SO happy and humbled and don't know if I quite did it's beauty justice but I tried! You were such an inspiration throughout the process, and really helped the beginning and end of this goliath story be what it is. I couldn't have ever asked for a better collab partner or fandom friend <3 I'll always think of Kunzite as a Viking (because he's just too beautiful and you've ruined me for all other Kunzites) and I'm seriously going to cherish this story and art piece forever!! SO MUCH LOVE!!!

* * *

Sailing home took weeks in which Zephyr doted over them with herbs and medicines he’d learned from Atla that were strange to Kjaran. It successfully pissed off Jǫðurr who was the most irritable being that he was also the most injured. Nefir nearly threw him overboard when he claimed calling him by his loathed nickname was the only form of joy he could find on their long journey home, sadly half in earnest maybe only half kidding. Kjaran was inclined to let the snarky Elf be tossed into the sea if it would stop his gums from flapping, but even he found himself attempting not to smile when Nefir let Jǫðurr get under his skin in the most endearing of ways. 

The four would bunker down together between rowing shifts, sharing water while they spoke fondly of the women awaiting their return home in an excited manner Kjaran hadn’t seen from his men in a long time. He and Nefir had an abundance of things to discuss, lifting each other’s spirits with talk of the children they would meet upon arriving home, and the beautiful women they were promised to. His ship was heavy with gold and light spirits, and while he was pleased with the fruits of their raid, Kjaran had never been more ready to be home. 

When they breached the mists and spied the dragon’s head lifting lazily from the waves to peer at them in passing, an oddly comforting homecoming to stop and give Joot his reward for allowing them safe passage through. Excitement seemed to dance in the feisty dragon’s eyes upon seeing them which Kjaran tried to see as good tidings even if it was only because the creature was likely only cooperative due to the promise of a good meal. Zephyr hadn’t been able to scrounge up a heifer, but a young sow seemed to do the trick, and Joot submerged, offering them stronger waves to hasten their arrival to the port near the rather grand settlement, ushering the anxious crew home. 

Sefi, Ragna, and Magnhildr were at the forefront of the crowd to greet them. The standard throngs of families coming together to reunite with loved ones, whether they were alive or passed on into a valiant afterlife. Thralls all at the ready to unload the vast amount of gold they would bring into Sefi’s Longhouse for distribution. The thought of the celebration to come for the departed, of which there were many, somehow made Kjaran feel all the wearier. He just needed to know all was well with his budding family, anxiety that he focused on his clenched fingers, keeping the fear to himself after the losses of prior years. Nefir exchanged a worried look with Kjaran, both searching for Milena who was suspiciously absent, eager to greet the women they’d spent nearly every night talking about. 

“She is resting no doubt.” Nefir assured quietly, clapping a comforting hand to his shoulder with reassurance in his warm brown eyes. 

“Of course.” Kjaran clenched his jaw, trying not to allow misfortunes of raids long passed eat away at his confidence and sought to approach whatever news of Milena and his child with bravery, less fearful of Hildr’s wolves than the potential of anything else that might have befallen her. Zephyr’s gentle hand on his forearm was the only sensation that brought Kjaran out of his stupor long enough to realize how hard he was gripping the ledge of the shallow warship. For a moment, he had to be glad for his brothers. They were not blood to him, but any one of them could ease his troubled soul with a mere comforting hand or sharp word, some idiot antic that would distract him from his thoughts just long enough that Kjaran felt right again. 

Nefir jumped from the boat before dropping the anchor was even a thought. The tall man cleared a few feet, nearly missing when he hopped onto the dock to scoop his older daughter up into his arms, placing her piggyback over his shoulders. Kjaran could see his wide Cheshire smile from a distance as he rushed toward Mag, who waited for him with a tiny pink bundle wrapped in dark green swaddling in her arms. 

Strolling up behind him, he watched the happy scene, Sefi and Ragna both laughing at Nefir’s excitement as he placed Tora down on the dock. He kissed Mag’s face and hollered loudly, and with more pride than their entire ship of men and Maidens, to declare that he’d had a son. So loud in fact, that it was enough to frighten the infant boy who began to cry and holler rather loudly himself. 

“It gives me an excuse to hold him.” Nefir claimed, taking the bundle gently and regarding his wife with such pride in his big brown eyes. “How long ago? What did you call him?” 

“It’s been nearly three months. He is called Toke thanks to the help of good Tora.” 

“Well with any luck he’ll have my strength and his mother’s beauty.” Nefir declared with a fixed, toothy grin, kissing the head of the baby nestled in the crook of his arm while he wrapped Mag in his free one. “You did well Tora, it is a strong name.”

“Aunt Millie’s-” The rest came muffled as Mag laughed and pulled Tora against her with a hand clapped over her mouth. Nefir shared a knowing and excited look with his wife, resting his forehead against hers win an almost predatory gleam. Tora struggled and managed to get away, running off in peels of laughter as a child who knew something that others did not. 

“Where is Milena?” Kjaran tried to regard Sefi in such a manner that didn’t disrupt the tender moment between Mag and Nefir, yet due to her accosting Erland upon his return, and Ragna’s rather violent scolding of Jǫðurr, it was Mag to answer his inquiry anyway with a reassuring laugh.

“Atla is with her in the Longhouse. I think she’ll be anxious to go home now that you’ve returned. Go on,” She gestured him off with a beaming smile, “go and meet your children.” 

“Children?” Nefir echoed Kjaran’s dry throated question making Mag laugh even more at their exchanged looks of confusion, her eyes sparkling in the light of a mid-morning sun like two emeralds, polished and pleased with themselves. 

“About two weeks ago now. Kjaran go, see for yourself before the Longhouse is full of others wanting to meet them before you’ve had the chance.” 

He wasted no time. Uncaring that he hadn’t yet unloaded the ships, or that Jǫðurr was probably heading back out with Ragna to complete a promise he’d made Kjaran long ago. Nothing in Hel or Asgard mattered, and all the beasts of Midgard couldn’t have stopped him. 

Atla rushed into the main hall when Kjaran barreled through the timber doors, a dirty, salty, probably scruffy mess to find the source of the commotion. Her fierce and protective expression softened upon seeing the battle-worn man desperate to meet his new family. 

“Shhh, she is resting, but please come. She asks for you in her dreams.” Atla lead him with a gentle hand into a warm room, the fire dim and welcoming. Arti lifted his large white head with a protective growl that immediately turned into a loud purr when Atla scolded the beast, calling for him to leave so that Kjaran could take a moment to fully absorb what he was seeing. 

The firelight flickered over a fur covered bed, Milena’s golden hair and pale skin stark in contrast against the dark bedding. He watched a moment, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed through parted pink lips in slumber. Somehow, more remarkable than the great beauty sprawled across the furs in a loose white gown were the two tiny babies sleeping at her sides, one tucked under each of her arms. Twins. 

Kjaran sat slowly at the side of the bed in an attempt not to disturb her, overcome with such a prideful joy that he cursed the unstoppable tears that blurred his vision under his breath. He rubbed at his eyes with rough fingers, stopping only at the softest sound of his name. 

“Kjaran, you’re home.” Sleepy as she was, Milena greeted him with the most dazzling of pearl white smiles, her indigo eyes beaming with happiness he’d never seen in her. “Meet your daughter, Signe, as well as your Son, Torsten” 

“A Daughter, and a Son.” He wept openly then, falling forward to bury his face in her stomach, resting each of his hands so tenderly on each sleeping baby. “By the Gods we are Blessed.” 

“Please, carry your Son home so he may know strength and bravery, and I will carry our daughter so that she may know a woman can be just as strong.” 

“I would carry all three of you if only you knew how I would protect you all with my very last breath. I will carry them both, so my Daughter will know that a man’s touch is meant to be gentle and protective, and my Son can learn this from his Father.” Looking up, his glassy blue eyes roved over her face. Milena had never been more beautiful, a softness that had been lacking before when her eyes held such savage fury gave way to the embodiment of beauty and love, and his heart hadn’t ever been so full. 

“May we be married now that you’re home? If I am going to end my days and see Valhalla with anyone, I want it to be you.” Kjaran smiled at this, unable to tear his watery eyes from his beautiful family. He understood then why Nefir shouted like a madman, so overcome with joy that he could scarcely contain himself in his own skin. 

“You owe me another child, Songbird. Marry me now and love me for eternity. I am-” 

“Shhh.” Milena hushed him as their daughter cooed and stirred. “Do not spout your vows at me now my love. Just carry them home, so you can bathe, and enjoy me.” 

“Until the Sun rises.” He whispered, emotions still burning his eyes. Milena smiled at him and shook her head, shifting to help him gather the two babes in his arms. 

“No, foolish man. Until Forever.” 

* * *

Wedding rites were always her favorite of their traditions, unsurprising as a daughter of Freya to fully throw herself into the ritual feasts and sacrifices so rarely made in the name of true love. Neither herself or Kjaran had family outside of their friends, so much as Mag and Nefir had done it was a bit more of a luxurious affair. For the very first time, it was fun for her without the overbearing politics between parents and dowries. Even the contract Kjaran handed her as if to mock her simply read: "Until the Sun sets on Midgard and rises in Valhalla." 

The Summer months had waned into something with a more comfortable chill in the air, signifying the coming Harvest. Like Sefi, Milena chose the timing well, only instead of the air full of romance and calm, there was an amorous bite to it. The first days were spent apart from each other, so the girls could embark on their ritualistic bathing to wash away not her Maidenhood, but a past of poisoned love and hidden pathways that lead her to this week where her path would inevitably turn into a bountiful meadow. 

The nights were what Milena lived for. Pyres lined the beach and lit up the rocky shores, people dancing joyfully to music that often became so impassioned and fevered one might lose the melody of it to the savage rhythm. Sefi saw to it that three pigs were slaughtered in sacrifice for feasting each night, and Mag had throngs of Shield Maidens pick berries and fruit to be mixed with honey enough for two towns. Milena wondered, but didn't question where the barrels of rather strong ale and mead were found, wondering if at some point while Ragna and Jǫðurr snuck away on a ship, they brought some back from the island where Elves wandered and their hot springs kept some of her favorite memories. 

"Dance for me." Kjaran grinned, his deep voice forever sending the most thrilling chills through her. 

"Dance WITH me." Milena returned, turning in his arms to face him only to be met with a deadpan expression. Her breath caught however, the way he'd set kohl around his eyes to further bring out the pale color, his hair tidy and braided away from his carved features. 

"I'm not a man who dances," His lips curled seductively, pulling her against his chest to speak in a quieter, more hushed tone, "but I do love to watch you." 

Rolling her eyes, Milena bounded off close to the music to dance near one of the pyres so high that the flame appeared to lick the stars. She began to sing out, enticing others around her to join in a song that seemed to swirl and meld with the drums and lend to a certain fever to her dancing that set an empowered seduction to her voice as well. 

The first night of three was to be a night of freedom. She'd shed an old life for this new one and her voice that could set fear into Sirens, stun, and deafen, had always been able to be used for more lustful intent as well. Milena didn't use this often, typically during celebrations of sacrifice, blood, and carnal festivities, but as she sang the night took such a turn that thirst held a new meaning for lovers and filled the air with ardent intent. 

Kjaran wasn't immune to this, and while she enjoyed his hands, his lips, and the teeth behind them that nipped at her and beckoned her to bed, Milena wouldn't allow it. They would only see each other in ceremony until Frigga's-day and that night, along with each night after, would be theirs. Until then, she found a great deal of amusement for the hunger she could cause him. Thinking perhaps she might have to have another table crafted in case they broke the one in their home too. 

The second day was a more ceremonial affair. The unfortunate agreeing upon and signing of the contracts, Milena's least favorite part, was a mundane but necessary step. However, they could disappear into the forest directly after where a healthy sow was killed in Freya's name, a blood sacrifice shared with Erland and Sefi, Mag and Nefir, Atla and Zephyr, and Jǫðurr even partook as Ragna began rites to gain the attention and favor of the Gods. They all wore plain linen clothing, hair all loose and skin clean of tribal makeup and dirt while she spoke incantations and sprinkled the sow's blood over the gathered crowd with fir branches in celebration of their union. Since it wasn't Milena's first marriage rite, she was able to forgo some of the more stuffy tradition of lectures about wifely duties and such, but Milena would never skip the steam room. 

Stones heated in the fire were added to the bathing room where the girls would wash the sow's blood from their skin and hair while the beast was prepared for the wedding feast the following night. Ragna would by her own mystical ability to keep the stones hot, and Atla would pour chilled water over them to create a delicious bit of steam. Milena added flower petals and oils to her bath to make sure her hair and skin was scented for the final ceremony the following day, eagerly scrubbing away her troubled and bloody past. The town would feast in their honor, Jǫðurr and Nefir likely getting Erland and Kjaran famously drunk one final time while Milena would stay in solitude to pray, and enjoy her children while they were mere babes. 

As she once pleaded for answers, Milena now offered her thanks to Gods and Goddesses she thought had forsaken her not so long ago. She rocked her daughter first, son second, allowing them to suckle at her as she quietly told the story of a wayward Shield Maiden and how she came across a Jarl from a faraway land and fell in love while trying to steal his fleet for her own. The story didn't get very far before Milena herself drifted into a soft and comforting slumber, an infant tucked in on either side of her with dreams of hot springs and beautiful nights swimming through her slumber. 

Her dreams were now riddled with such beauty she nearly wept when her eyes drifted open to the blue light of morning, pale and drifting through cracks and windows in her timber home in bright golden beams of warmth. Milena missed Kjaran, she hadn't seen him much in prior days due to ceremony, so when she woke to her babies tucked safely in the small cribs Jǫðurr built for them and a small bundle of lavender tied with a red ribbon on the pillow beside her she smiled, wide and sleepy. The final day of marital rites were, of course, her favorite because today she would marry for love instead of some political gain. 

Ragna and Sefi both came to work on her hair, pulling it only half back in intricate and elaborate braids that entwined with pearls and the red ribbon Kjaran used to bundle the lavender he'd left her at some point that morning. She stained her lips with berries that complimented her blue eyes and flushed cheeks. Sefi gave her a fine dress in white to wear with accents of orange and blue flowers to match the elegant bridal crown her mother had left her so long ago. Milena had worn it one other time in ceremony, but this time when it adorned her head of golden hair it accented a beauty she'd grown into instead of stealing it from her as had once when she was an awkward young girl. It settled into the style they'd chosen for her hair as though it belonged there, and Milena knew her mother would be proud. 

"Sefi, are you crying?" Milena turned at the sound of her childhood friend, her Queen's seemingly sorrowful sniffles. But she smiled and gently embraced her with a gleeful kiss on the cheek. 

"You have seen such trials my dearest friend. You've deserved such happiness for far too long. I hope that you can feel Frigga's blessing. She smiles brightly today upon you and Kjaran, and upon these beautiful children. I hope to soon introduce my own Son or Daughter to such tidings." Sefi wiped her tears, a betraying smile adorning her lips. 

“My mother told me once that life is a series of trials.” Milena placed her hands on Sefi’s shoulders and looked with sincerity in the young Queen’s face. “One of hardships and bloodshed that I would need to overcome to prove myself worthy of our Gods. I think she is right, because today I feel victorious, like she stands with me to rejoice this perfect day before the harvest.” Sefi clung tightly to her, and Milena fought to not become overwhelmed by emotion, or the elegant manner Ragna had lined her eyes with dark kohl might become ruined.

"Speaking of, we should get down to the docks." Ragna was beautiful, perhaps more than herself, when she smiled softly as she did now with her dark features, primal makeup, and fine garb. The Seer watched the two women embrace with a warmth she seldom carried, and stood in the door frame with a half patient motion for them to leave for the ceremony. 

She paused at the door to her house, a singular sword that once belonged to her mother still displayed proudly above the threshold. Straining, Milena pulled it down, polishing the solid steel piece with a cloth briefly to admire the intricate design before replacing it, and following Sefi and Ragna out into the morning. The streets were empty, everyone long gathered to witness a ceremony that was perhaps too long in the making, eager to add Kjaran’s old sword to the display once she gifted him with a new one. 

Milena insisted that the final ceremony take place on the docks, lined by the ships in their fleet with the sea salt on the fresh air and the sound of waves to orchestrate the blessed occasion. The air was crisp, the Sun still low enough to cast soft hues over the green fields surrounding their docks and stretches of shoreline that seemed to go on forever until the mists swallowed them. Sefi walked with her arm linked in hers, familiar faces of her dearest friends and members of their clan she'd known since she was just a mere girl with a shield in her hand and endless dreams longer than the World's Serpent. 

King Erland waited with three cats sprawled lazily at his side, the dock crowded with his men and her closest friends and their families, the entire town spilling onto the lawn and beaches surrounding the proud fleet- lined fjord. Milena only saw Kjaran, eyes clear and unsooted, dressed in fine white cloth, serious as always, and appraising of her as they approached. Ragna and Sefi took their places for the ceremony as Kjaran pulled a sleek, seemingly very old but beautiful sword from the sheath at his hip, letting their dark Seer balance a ring at the tip. 

"Milena, you will accept this sword with perfect trust of the protection Kjaran offers your children," She was interrupted by a great cry from their Son cradled carefully in Erland's arms earning a short laugh from the gathered crowd, and even a smile from Ragna herself. "both present children, and those to come. Kjaran, you offer this sword in honor of your ancestors with a binding promise of protection and devotion to your new wife." 

"This sword of my Grandfather is yours to pass to our Son. May he grip it with pride, and only raise it for protection of his house. It is my promise to keep as Husband that I honor you with the protection of our legacy together. In Odin's name, my sword for yours, my blood for my family, the heart of my ancestors. I am loyally yours with the Gods as my Witness." Milena swallowed hard in attempts not to become overly emotional, though she wasn't able to stop smiling, her eyes pricked with happy tears. Nefir stepped forward, a brand new sword of fresh iron, perfectly balanced and sleek as the one Kjaran had handed to her, was placed in Milena's hands with a ring balanced at the tip. She'd asked for the rune of Tyr be marked near the hilt on one side, a corresponding rune of Freyja on the other as her own mark of affection.

"Kjaran, you will accept this new sword from your wife as a symbol of your new life together. Engraved by Tyr's bravery as you fight to protect hearth, home, and womb." Ragna spoke with a rare placed joy in her eyes as Milena took a deep breath to speak.

"This sword is yours to protect our Daughter. May it raise her strong as her Grandmother, proud as her mother, and keep her safe as the house her Father protects." She gripped her offered sword Nefir had been so kind to forge, a perfectly balanced and very powerful weapon with good bones. "In Frigga's name, and the long lineage of the Freyja-blessed, I am my own. I am your equal, and with this exchange of rings and swords I give myself freely and loyally to you in this life until we enter the Halls of Valhalla to love in the next, with the Gods as my Witness." 

They crossed their blades, a balancing act to ensure the rings balanced on the tips did not fall. Ragna stepped between them, a gentle placed hand on each of their sword-wielding ones, deep violet eyes dancing between the two. 

"I don't think it needs to be said as the answer is quite obvious, but by the Gods Kjaran, do you swear you want to take Milena for your Wife?" 

She bit her lip, chuckling softly in her throat when Karan peered down at her with such certainty, reaching for the ring meant for her at the end of her own sword. 

"By the Gods I swear it. My heart for Freyja." His lips quirked and warmed his face further as Kjaran slipped the intricately carved silver band onto her finger, his thumb carefully caressing the back of her hand in its withdrawal. 

"Milena? Do you swear before our Gods that you want to take Kjaran for your Husband?" 

"My heart for Frejya. By the Gods, there's no other man I'd take." Milena breathed, unable to tear her eyes from him, nearly cutting her finger against the blade when she reached for his ring and slipped it onto his finger. Warmth spread through her chest, reflecting in her own smile as the ceremony concluded, their marriage made final. 

Kjaran sheathed his new sword, Ragna taking hers so she could throw her arms around his strong neck, allowing herself to be lifted into his arms and spun with such happy laughter. The crowd around the dock erupted in loud cheers and singing, that all faded into nothingness when she looked into his clear blue eyes. Milena could scarcely kiss him for smiling too wide as he placed her feet slowly back on the dock. Everything, from the pain and torment, the trials they had faced together were made worth it for this one perfect moment. 

"I have a gift." Kjaran whispered, resting his forehead against hers and gazing at her with a boyish excitement reserved for very few to know of him. "We'll steal away for a moment when they all head to Sefi's hall." 

She nodded despite herself, suspicious in wonder what this foolish man, her husband, was up to. Their eyes met, amusement lost when his arms held her a bit tighter, and she thought he might kiss her, eager to taste his lips without the cold sting of guilt attached to it. However, their friends had other plans as they bombarded around them with happy praise and teasing.

"Won't be long and Milena will be round and whiny again." Jǫðurr teased as he gave her a big warm hug. Kjaran grabbed the Elven man around the neck to pull him away with a great laugh as he kissed his forehead. Essentially holding him in place for Milena to give him a great smack to his arm.

"With any luck, you wolven ass, I'll have her plenty round again as soon as the Gods will it." The two men shared a moment it seemed, Jǫðurr smiling fondly with a nod as if to answer a silent question Kjaran posed. 

"Perhaps you should put a child in Ragna, I think she's beginning to get the hang of it." Milena laughed, watching her dark haired friend holding her daughter out in front of her with disgust on her mouth as if she were in need of a new diaper. She paused, eyes shifting over to them in time for Mag to rescue the dangling baby. Nefir appeared in tow, holding Tora’s hand with her wild brown hair and blue marbles for eyes, their own small babe cradled in his other arm.

"Perhaps we should get to the Hall? The crowd is gathering, and we should maybe give the bride and groom a moment alone." Kjaran gave a knowing, gentle smile to Nefir who offered his wide, kind grin. "We'll take Torsten and Signe." Hugs and kisses were exchanged, the party of their friends and children departing the wide dock leaving the newlyweds alone to enjoy a moment. 

"It seems like so long ago... you found me." Kjaran spoke softly to earn her attention while the crowd drifted away, needing to practically drag Sefi who of course wanted to eavesdrop. Milena drifted into his arms excitedly once everyone was out of earshot. "Even if you did keep me bound and tied up for several days." 

"You earned that, admit it. You probably would have just had my head were the tables turned." Milena lifted her face, resting her chin at his chest to gaze up lovingly at him. 

"Well I'm pleased things happened the way they did. Now that I'm here, I'm not sure I'd be ready to depart for the next life, though I have no doubt that the legacy I would leave is sufficient enough to earn my place beside our Gods. But right now I am content to remain here, beside you." Milena practically knocked them both from the dock when she kissed him, unsure of what gift he could possibly offer her that could ever be better than his lips. He chuckled into their kiss and parted from her slowly before she could become carried away. "Come with me. Our presence in the hall will be missed if we don't hurry, and I'd like to walk alone with you before the celebration." 

"You're no man for surprises Kjaran, what are you up to?" His warm fingers wrapped around her hand and Milena found herself being pulled down toward the shore. "Where are we going!?" She giggled, practically being dragged behind her mountain of a silver haired husband who only smirked back at her over a broad shoulder. 

"It's just a path, Milena. I'm with you now, you don't have to be afraid to follow it." Kjaran paused to kiss her, eyes lingering a moment before they both took off running down the beach with mischief on their lips. 

It was all in good fun, the fresh air cool and crisp and light with laughter, rocks, and sand kicking up under their feet in the ocean surf, and wind light and refreshing through their ornamented wedding clothes and hair. They ran until the mist began to roll over the shore, the scenery of her lands evanescent to the growing fog, when out of the misty tide, the most beautiful idol of Freya she'd ever seen greeted her.

Her golden likeness was beautifully crafted and inlaid strategically with gold that glittered in the sun, two large mountain cats sitting attentively at her feet, making up the bow of a massive longship. The side trimming was ornately carved, the detail work meticulous. Milena hadn't realized she'd stopped moving, or breathing until she felt Kjaran's thumb stroke over the back of the hand he still held. 

"It's..." Words escaped her for the moment, unable to tear her eyes from the beauty of it as though it weren't real. Milena was convinced at this moment that her life was now somehow a dream, or that Asger had really killed her and this was what Valhalla meant. Some ascended version of reality where the Gods smiled and brought her peace, comfort, and love in the form of the most loving, and perfect man she’d ever met.

"It is the ship you told me you dreamed of." He brought her hand up to his lips to kiss the knuckle and pulled her toward him with the gentlest of smiles reflecting in his pale blue eyes. "I don't want to raid without you next year. If you aren't with child and would join me, I want you by my side." 

"Just when I begin to accept that perhaps I'm not dreaming, you manage to surprise me." Milena stepped forward to touch the idol's face, to further examine the carvings with her fingers if only to assure herself that it was real. "Can we sail her up the shore? Surely they're wondering where we've gone but-." 

"Most of them know." His voice in her ear sent a thrilling shiver down her spine. Milena had kept him quite starved these past few days, teasing with ardent touches and glances, allowing him to sample small bits of her own powers. "But we should get back. The feast awaits and I'm eager to celebrate with our family, to steal you away for my own once it becomes too unbearable for me to not touch you." 

"I have no brilliant gift to give you, this is far too much. It must have cost you half your fortune." 

"Foolish girl, you've gifted me a Son and Daughter at the same time. You've gifted me a far superior sword to protect you and our children. You are the most beautiful woman, strong and powerful, to ever walk the lands of Midgard or sail such dangerous seas. Milena, a man cannot possibly want more than what you have already given me." She could tell he tried to tame his emotions, and eager as she was to crawl into that boat and sail away, Milena refrained. 

"Let us get back then, so we can feast, and I can spend the night in worship of you." She'd finally managed to turn to him, her fingers toying with the light linen of his white attire. "I should have told you I loved you then, I did." 

"I know." He smiled, placing an arm around her waist so they could head back toward the settlement. "I'll have my men bring the ship along before they get too drunk." 

"Your men? I thought you were no longer a Jarl." She glanced up at him to the side, he so indifferently shrugged and carried on. 

"They are loyal to me still. Erland has made me his Lawman. Now that these lands are known to more people there is greater risk. It is also my responsibility to keep an eye on the North now that it is overseen by my brother, and a great deal weaker without my protection at the ready, but I will always protect it." 

"What is yours to protect is mine now too. How did I get so lucky as to wed a man of such importance?" She smirked, hugging his arm against her chest as they walked.

"Well, you stole my fleet, remember? Is that not the proper way for a Shield Maiden to find herself a husband?" 

"I still say you asked for it. Though I see your point, and you will need my advisory." 

"Eh... not exactly.” Though I do love your willingness to protect the North should we need to." Kjaran chuckled, placing a kiss upon her head, "I think your duties remain with your Shield Maidens, the command of our warriors, and perhaps you may teach me how to be friendly with that dragon. I thought Joot was going to eat us on our way back from collecting Erland." 

"Well... that isn't so easily done. It will take time." Milena laced her fingers with his as they approached the path toward the town. "And a lot of cows..." 

"We have the time." 

"Yes, and we'll have to raise the cows. Joot has a rather distinct taste for heifers."

“One thing at a time Milena,” Kjaran laughed, a rare and infectious sound that she leaned into if only to feel it rumble in his chest. “There is a time for everything and tonight is ours, and ours alone.” 

“Let’s share many drinks and feast with our friends and family today, so the night can be ours. I did promise you another child.” Milena beamed and closed her eyes, finally feeling freedom in the ocean breeze, and peace with her feet planted firmly in the sand as she walked beside her husband.

“And I do love that you keep your promises.” Kjaran returned, one hand on his new sword strapped firmly to his hip, his other in the hand of his wife who gave him the world in the form of two beautiful children and risked Ragnarok just to let him know just how much he was loved. 

* * *

His bones ached, the day was shorter, and cold, making his labor all the more difficult as the years wore on. Nine years since he came here to this town that appeared more modern and sturdy as time tread forward like a herd of rampant bison. Kjaran was certain he’d sleep for a week after the abundant stockpile of fish caught that day, knowing it would be one of the last shoals caught for the year since Winter would be upon them soon. The sky was bleak, the town grey and dull, quiet with everyone tucked safely inside with families about to enjoy a warm hearth and warmer food. Firelight emanated warmth into the narrow streets between the timber houses and empty trade stalls, the Sun falling much earlier these days making it darker than he would have liked. 

The fire radiated warmest from his own timber home, and Kjaran paused outside a moment, dropping heavy fishing nets beside the front door, stretching his aching back, feeling the groaning wear and tear of his knees. He smiled, hearing a very lovely and specific voice speaking passionately, and the laughter of children that followed. Silently, he pushed open the front door, weariness invigorated by the heat that hit him, heart, full of pride by the sight that greeted his worn blue eyes. 

“The Kraken destroyed my ship! Your father, pulled me onto his own Longship, while Uncle Nefi and Mag brought it down with aid from the great and mighty Thor!” Four children, all fair haired and beautiful, gathered around his gorgeous wife, her rust colored dress fitting to the elegant and gathered braids in her long golden hair. Their fifth child and his youngest son Sten was nearly matching in appearance and resting at her hip while Milena dramatically waved her serving spoon between filling their bowls with a rich smelling rabbit stew. His smile was warm as he appraised her, still more beautiful with each passing day after eight years of being married. 

“You saved Uncle Zephyr, right Mama?” Kjaran’s middle son Harald was always enthralled by this tale, no matter how often Milena told it to them. He always inquired on things with wide, sparkling blue eyes and silver hair that matched his own.

“Yes.” Kjaran interrupted, making Milena turn in alarm before gifting him a smile more illuminating than the fire in front of her. Four of their five children rushed to set their bowls on the table so that they could greet him. The twins, their first, climbed on him recklessly with wild giggles. It was becoming harder for him to lift the two eight-year-olds as he grew older himself, his one arm never quite as strong as it had been before, but he remained strong enough to do so for the moment. Kjaran smiled down at Torsten and Signe, who clung to his arms with wide excited eyes. “Your mother is still the fiercest Shield Maiden these shores have ever known.” 

“And your Father,” Milena cut in, pausing to kiss him with a knowing smile on her lips while both twins hung from each of his arms. “Your father managed to save my life from a vicious Draugr!” 

“That’s when you fell in love!” Their third child, Astrid giggled excitedly, clinging to the skirt on Milena’s dress. 

“Perhaps for your Mother, but I loved her since I heard her sing to the Gods around the bonfire one night after she stole my entire fleet.” He grinned at the apparent blush on Milena’s cheeks, ushering the twins toward the table for supper. “Bound in rope without a ship to my name and I still fell head over heels for your Valkyrie Mother.” 

She kissed him again, handing Sten off to him so she could get them both a bowl of stew. Kjaran kissed the crown of the small boy’s head, hugging him close while he took his place at their table. Milena continued their story as she finished filling bowls and cups, and cutting bread. THEIR story, Kjaran thought to himself fondly, listening to her sweet voice, watching Milena and all of her endless beauty shared with all of their children, gathered around him while she so dramatically gestured and passionately finished their tale. 

Their children were his purpose, but Milena was still his dream for an endless night. He knew without a doubt that there was no life for him without her, and until the Sun set on Midgard and rose in Valhalla, he would chase the dawn with her each night he was allowed. Until the day came that they would be parted and he would promise her with his whole heart that it would only last ‘Until the Sun rises.’ He would wake with the Sun gleaming on those golden halls and Milena would greet him with Leif in her arms. Perhaps it would be him to greet her with his first son in his arms so Kjaran could tell him all about the woman who saved him. 

Torsten and Signe, Astrid, Harald, and Sten would be left to tell the story of a troubled Shield Maiden and a wayward Jarl from the North who found each other without knowing they were walking the same path forward. They would pass epic stories of Krakens and Draugr, Elves, and a girl named Hildr who never aged but held the end of the world in her hands down to their own children. He and Milena would be immortal, their accomplishments, their love for each other passed through the lips of others for unknown generations. It was the only kind of legacy worth leaving, and it was theirs. 

His pale eyes fell upon two swords so proudly mounted above the door frame while Milena spoke on with passion in the background, and Kjaran decided that for all his loyalty to the Gods that had blessed him so deeply, he was in no hurry to join the halls of Valhalla. His honor, his legacy was secured, but his love, his lust for life around this warm hearth, fragrant with plentiful food, surrounded by the musical laughter of his children and marriage bed, warmer still with his wife's affections. Honor in death would come for him someday but there was no hurry. Not when his life with their friends and family was so blessed under the sprawling branches of Yggdrasil. After all, they would all see Valhalla someday with honor, and five glorious children memorizing their tale for them to pass on for generations yet to come.


End file.
